


Ringing

by PsiFie



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: (you betcha), Alternate Ending, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Fluff, M/M, Meta, NEW TAGS:, and stuff happens, but not gory, disassociating, it’s a tad violent, kokichi’s plan falls apart, might become more major later in the story, ringing ringing ringing, the relationship is a minor role, yet another alternate chapter 5, you betcha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-02-18 02:04:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13090125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsiFie/pseuds/PsiFie
Summary: Maki is 5 minutes late in chapter 5, and that makes a world of differences.In other news, Kokichi gets a concussion.———————————————Updated Summary: A drawn-out sickfic that turns into an alternate ending fic halfway through because I don’t know how to categorize things and I have IDEAS





	1. Confrontation

As Kaito Momota assembled the the crossbow, many scenarios played through his mind. In some, he managed to take out Kokichi and escape, while in others he remained trapped. The goal was to diffuse the volatile little bastard without killing him, but dissembling a bomb with a crossbow was going be difficult. Perhaps if he at least got out the door, he could get aid from his classmates— but he’d like to capture Kokichi, not just harm him. It seemed a herculean task, but he’d have to try his best and storm through the odds. Not to mention, his new illness was a dangerous variable. But for some odd feeling, he’s got a good feeling about this, like the odds were in his favor tonight. 

Doubling checking his work, he’s pleased to note the complicated setup was carried out correctly. He twangs one of the strings before standing, readying the sights where Kokichi will come through at the bathroom door.

“Oohhhhhh Momota-chan!” Kokichi, kicking open the door, enters the room singing. “I brought some snack bars, I thought you might be hun-” Upon seeing the crossbow aimed at him, he stops dead in his tracks. Still frozen, his eyes flit up and down an angry Momota, and he chuckles nervously. As the tall boy takes a few steps forward, he shrinks back and slowly raises his hands, opting for diplomacy with a shaky grin. “C’mon, I’ve got the remote for the Exsials, remember? I mean, I knew you were dumb, but you can’t seriously be attempting to take down the mastermind with just a crossbow.” 

Momota bites his lip and presses forward, finger on the trigger. Kokichi keeps his distance, backing up out of the bathroom. “Hey, you can’t kill me, either. It would be too obvious! _Believe_ me, you don’t wanna get executed, that’s a gnarly way to go.” As they back out into the middle of the room, Kokichi slowly lowers his left hand, reaching for a remote. Momota squares his jaw and lets the bolt rip free, aiming for the sinking arm. He knew he couldn’t believe in the little nutcase.

Kokichi lets out a shriek of pain as the bolt pierces his flesh, and Momota rushes forward to disarm him of the remote. The tackle knocks both of them to the ground. Lashing out, Kokichi gets a hand on the larger boy’s face and pushes with wild fervor, but Momota has him pinned. For a few seconds, they shove and wrestle, and the smaller boy again desperately reaches for the remote. Triumphantly, he pulls it out successfully this time, but makes the mistake of raising it in the air. Seeing the tool, Momota, in a panic, clamps down a firm hand on Kokichi’s new wound and presses hard. Letting out another cry of pain, the smaller boy is forced to release the remote, and Momota takes the opportunity to snatch it up before leaping backwards a few steps. Not knowing what to do with the remote, he warily watches his opponent. 

Kokichi is slower to rise. He shivers on the ground before rising, clutching his wound tightly. His hair falls across his face, so his eyes are a bit hard to see—but Momota shivers at the sight. They’re laced with anger and teary with pain. The small boy pulls out a pocketknife and points it at Momota. “W-wait!” Calls out the larger boy. “I-I’ll use the Exsials!” Pointing the remote at the nearest red machine, he presses a few buttons only for it to spazz out. Kokichi looks horrified. 

“Don’t, you idiot!” The smaller boy yells out. “They’ve got some kind of kill-all setting, dumbass! You can’t just button mash it, you’ll kill us both!” He trains his eyes on the Exsial now, wobbling backwards, but keeps his knife pointed at Momota. He raises his other hand to bite furiously at his thumb, and begins glancing between both of his enemies. Momota can see the gears turning in his enemies head. Frustrated, the liar calls out again. “Just point it at the hanger door and press the center button, that’ll open it!” Momota complies, and the heavy door screeches open.

Momota dashes out into the fresh night air only to see Maki, an Electrohammer raised over her head, facing down and Exsial. She turns her head in confusion, and looks at Momota like she’s seeing mothman for the first time. He shouts to her, and gestures vaguely to Kokichi, who’s still standing in the hanger. The small boy turns his back her to run, but only gets a few steps before she bolts across the courtyard and into the hanger, taking him down with a solid knee to his back. Maki pins him to the cold hanger floor with a clang. 

Returning to the hanger, Momota finds Maki patting Kokichi down, pulling out all the pocketknives she can find. A solid 3 have skittered on the floor already, a few meters away from them. She pulls out a forth from another hidden pocket on Kokichi’s jacket, and hands it up to Momota, who flips it over, inspecting it. “Check his shoes.” The assassin orders, and Momota complies, unlacing them and shaking them out. He’s surprised to find yet another compartment with a blade in the sole, while Maki tosses another from his jacket’s sleeve across the floor. Kokichi begins to speak out in objection, but the assassin quickly grabs a fistful of his hair before quickly and cleanly bashing his forehead into the ground with a loud _bang_. She opens up an old wound, and blood begins to drip down the liar’s face. Momota grimaces.

“H-hey, Maki Roll. No need to be cruel. ” She narrows her eyes, and gets off the dazed Kokichi to only to quickly flip him over and feel down the front of his jacket. Frowning, she passes Momota two more knives and a small note book tucked into his jacket. 

“Sorry. I just couldn’t stand to hear his voice.” She glares icily at the small boy beneath her, who stares blankly back, eyes unclear. “If it were up to me, he’d be dead by now, but I figured _you_ wouldn’t like that. Kokichi blinks a few times before clarity returns to his expression. His eyes wander the surroundings, before settling on the red notebook in Momota’s hands. Suddenly, he begins struggling again, and a voice gurgles in his throat only to die back down when the assassin firmly presses his head against the ground. Momota sighs, looking away.  
“I’ll get some rope and wake the others. Looks like this episode of our nightmare is over.”

_______________

Above all things, Kokichi wanted least to be left alone with the awful murder girl. How the hell she got away with everyone liking her with a Ultimate like that, he’d never know—and he doubted there’d ever be a time he’d despised her more then right now. Silently, she pins his arms behind is back. Kokichi scoffs, and wonders where that awful _ringing_ sound is coming from. It’s persistent, like some kind of alarm. Perhaps then, he figures, it’s the “everything has gone wrong” alarm. Then, to silence this alarm, he’d have to get out of the situation, but even thinking about that hurts like hell. It must be his pride that’s hurting, yeah. He glances back up at the murderer above him, and she gives him her most poisonous glare and shoves his face to the side, cheek pressed into the hard metal beneath them once more. 

Not before long, he dimly hears Momota returning with several other footsteps. It’s impossible to see anything but Yumeno’s shoes from this angle, but can hear the students gasping and murmuring. He feels his face heat up in humiliation as Maki releases him, and Momota rushes down to put him in handcuffs. Kokichi tries to say something about something kinky or along that line, but it just comes out as a pathetic squeak. Then, Momota and Shuichi (his sweet, clueless darling Shuichi, he’s surprise to hear that voice again, he thought he’d heard the last of Shuichi) begin arguing about something or other. Frustratingly, it’s a bit hard to hear over the damn ringing, so he only gets bits and piece of it. Kiibo(the dumb useless robot, the sinister useless object that _shouldn’t be touching him_ ) grabs his back and helps him sit up. Kokichi turns his head to hide his face from the others—they have no _right_ to see him like this. Shame and frustration swim in his head, but overall they’re drowned out by that damn ringing. Glancing at Kiibo, he sees mock concern on the robot’s face and he throws his best grim smirk at the robot, who predictably shrinks back. 

Momota and Shuichi seem to be coming to an agreement, the yelling’s died down. Both of them are giving orders. Then Kiibo’s trying to lift him to his feet, and the world goes up in a rush. He’s slumped on the damn robots shoulder, and moving his legs about now seems far beyond his ability. He feels dizzy, hellishly dizzy, and he sees Yumeno again. For a moment, he pauses the hell is up with Yumeno? She’s such a dumbass, there’s no way she should’ve gotten to live this long. _What the hell?_ Kokichi focuses his spite and anger and attempts to take a step forward, only to come crashing down. Or at least he would’ve, if the damn robot, face all creased up with concern didn’t barely catch him. Then his classmates are arguing again, Shuichi’s gesturing to Kokichi’s forehead and Momota comes forward to try and pick Kokichi up. Like hell. In desperation, the liar shoves the larger boy away, though it the attack just kind of falters. Nevertheless, Momota gets the message and backs off saying something snarky to Shuichi, and the detective, sighing, tensely walks over and takes up Kokichi’s other shoulder. Everyone looks tired and frustrated. It’s the middle of the night goddammit, why is anybody even up? Oh, right—everything is falling apart. That’s what the ringing is about. The reality sinks in when he’s carried past Momota and sees him open up Kokichi’s notebook.

Shit. Well, the book was meant for Momota eventually, just not so soon. The astronaut carelessly flips through the pages. His emotions range from curiosity, at first, before the boy covers his mouth as if to gag. Kokichi reads a mix of contempt, disgust and pity in the next glance Momota throws him. Running through his plans, he comes up blank with each and every carefully crafted mechanism. He curses under his breath and Shuichi rolls his eyes. What the hell did Gonta die for, then? For this failure? His face heats up up and his eyes water with pain and shame but he swears to Atua or lying or DICE that he’s never going to give them the _satisfaction_ of seeing him really wail, of seeing him really broken. 

Kiibo and Shuichi take Kokichi back to his room, and Yumeno fiddles with a set keys taken from Kokichi’s pocket to open the door. They leave the lights off. set him down on the bed, turning on a nearby lamp. Shuichi immediately gets to work barking orders at them. Yumeno pulls out a first aid kit, and they begin going through it’s contents. Kokichi feels an odd sort of pride in Shuichi’s assertiveness—actually, he just feels pretty odd in general. He’s still in quite a bit of pain, and though the ringing has died down, it still persists. But somehow it feels alright, the world feels dreamlike. His eyes wet, but it doesn’t feel like crying.

Working together, they tear off his sleeve at the shoulder, and Shuichi inspects the arrow wound. Soon, Tsumugi shows up some time later with a tray full of hot, warm water, and a few glasses. He notes Shuichi giving the girl a faint smile and a nod to dismiss her before getting quickly to cleaning Kokichi’s forehead with the warm water and a soft towel from the bathroom. At first, the small boy flinches at the touch, and he shivers as the detective carefully sweeps the liar’s sticky, bloody bangs aside, and dabs away at the blood. Yumeno stand stiffly to the side, nervously glancing at each other, before Shuichi asks one of them to pass him a bandage roll. Kiibo helps prop Kokichi up on the bed as Shuichi wraps the clean, white bandages around the liar’s forehead. All of it’s beginning to feel more distant, like it’s happening to someone else, even though the ringing is getting louder. But it’s kind of soothing, like a song. 

Shuichi comes around with a glass of water. The detective sits at the edge of the bed, and tries to give Kokichi another one of his soft smiles( _too bad it’s certainly a lie, a lie_ ). Moving slowly, he shows Kokichi the bottle, rotating it in his hand. 

“P-pain pills, ok? We need to move fast and we want you to be comfortable, ok?” He nods, trying to meet Kokichi’s eyes with an even, steady stare, but the smaller boy obstinately looks away with a pout. Disappointed, Shuichi sighs and places the pill in Kokichi’s mouth, but the smaller boy spits it out. At first, he’s not really sure why he did that, then he remembers that it’s probably poisoned. That’s right, everyone hates him, even is beloved, sweet Shuichi who never would understand him. Poor, confused Shuichi. 

Shuichi tries two more times to little success, before Yumeno comments that it’s a lost cause. Kokichi smiles and laughs at that, causing Kiibo to flinch. Grimacing, the detective stands back and leaves the uneaten pill on the bedside. He then uses a knife to remove one of the straps from Kokichi’s pants, and places between the liar’s teeth. Kokichi is confused before he sees Yumeno(shaking badly) pick up the bandage, Shuichi brace the injured arm against the bed, and Kiibo, still flinching, wrap his hands around around the shaft of the arrow. Eyes screwed shut, the robot yanks it right out and suddenly the world is moving in fast motion again, he’s bleeding and Shuichi is applying _more_ pressure to the wound for some damned reason and then quickly wrapping and wrapping until nothing but white bandages can be seen on his arm, not the red, painful wound that’s bleeding below it. Kokichi spits out the strap in his mouth and sees that it is deeply grooved with the impressions of his teeth. The ringing comes back with renewed strength.

Shuichi sighs, and collapses back into an extra chair in the room. He washes his hands in the warm basin that Tsumugi brought, and thanks Yumeno and Kiibo for their help. Rubbing his eyes, the detective opens up an dusty compendium he brought in, while the duo leaves. The boys sit there together for a few minutes in silence, Shuichi reading, Kokichi bleeding. Shuichi’s nodding, doubling checking the way the bandages are wrapped. He gets up and walks around the room, and for the first time sees the wax Amami statue, and jumps backwards with a faint yell, tripping over Kokichi’s whiteboard and knocking it down with a loud clang. 

Kokichi summons his most withering stare to glare him down with when the detective gets back up. Seeing it, Shuichi shrinks back. Momota barges into the room, checking up on Shuichi who sighs and clears up the misunderstanding. Momota gives the Amami statue a long, hard look, and Kokichi snickers. Griping about sleep, he wanders off back to his room. 

Kokichi wonders at it all. His ruined plans, the hectic night, and the strange looks on everyone’s faces. Momota’s disgust(he still had his book, didn’t he), Shuichi’s pity, and Maki’s cold, terrifying rage. He closes his eyes, tight, but he feels like he can still feel the heat of their stares. Their anger had been easier to deal with then this damned pity. He wishes they could’ve stayed hating him until he died. He wishes he could’ve kept up his masquerade, keeping everyone at an arms distance with continued taunts and insults. Hadn’t Shuichi assured him he’d always be alone? What had changed? His throat is dry and scratchy, making it difficult to speak, so he decides not to. He fixes his eyes on Shuichi’s faint silhouette in that’s swimming in his vision. The boy turns and drops to his level, getting close to his face. He can read his lips moving, and faintly going by that, tries to figuring out what he’s saying. Shuichi is asking him if he’s hurt anywhere else.

Kokichi wriggles into a sitting up position to answer. His hands are still bound in the handcuffs, up but he indicates to his head. He only manages to cough a few words about the ringing before things start to get really dark, and the buzz gets really loud. Kokichi closes his eye, just for a second to relieve himself of the sight of Shuichi’s increasingly panicked face. The detective must be so frightened for Maki, the liar wonders. If he doesn’t wake up from this, then she’s gonna be executed. Suddenly, all the care makes sense. Eyes still closed, Kokichi smiles with this newfound understanding. And luckily, the dammed ringing drowns Shuichi’s faint, distant yelling out, so Kokichi can peacefully go to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin is spelt Ass Ass in. That’s two(2) asses for the price of one assassin. Detective has all the letters for deceive in it. 
> 
> Neither of these facts will be relevant in this fic lol. Yeah, I don’t know what I’m saying.
> 
> Keep an eye out for more chapters, though I’m not sure if I’ll write them or not. If they don’t come out, assume that edgy little bastard friggin died lol
> 
> oh hey check out my garbage blog: https://bigtroubleinlittlehopesacademy.tumblr.com/post/168793367006/owoma-that-little-shit
> 
> Edit: oh fuck I forgot those snack bars kokichi brought???? they’re lying on the floor in the bathroom, he dropped em, what a waste right?? hahahahahaa


	2. Percieving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Momota’s the kind of guy you can trust. Really.

Momota hadn’t even had the time to get back to sleep before he hears Shuichi yelling again in the other room. He’s so exhausted that he considers not getting up again, since it could be a false alarm like before. But when the shouting continues, he rolls out of bed and stretches his jacket over his shoulders. Right now, his sidekick needs his help. 

He bumps into Shuichi standing in the doorway to Kokichi’s room. As soon as the detective sees Momota, he latches onto the front of the luminary’s coat and drags him over to look at bed, where Kokichi lays still as a doll, pale face framed in messy dark hair. “Listen, I think he’s in a coma! Maki must’ve concussed him, he was talking about this _ringing_ and seemed... _not there_ while we were working on him.” He dashes over to the body and double checks the kid’s pulse before checking his breathing again. “Those are all signs, they were in the book. Then he blacked out, and now he won’t wake up again. I was yelling at him, you heard, but it didn’t work.” Frustrated, he taps his fingers on the edge of the bed. “We should’ve been faster. And maybe moved him with a gurney, instead of trying to make him walk.” Taking up the sheets, specked with blood, in his fists, the detective starts tearing up again, just like he first did when he saw Kokichi defeated. 

“Saihara, calm down.” Momota sighs, and idly scratches the back of his head before placing a firm hand on Shuichi’s shoulder. “You did the best you could, I’m certain. Some people are just impossible to deal with.” Shuichi bites his lip and looks away, frowning bitterly, while Momota‘s eyes wander once more down the pathetic sight of the liar he was wrestling with only a few hours ago—the bandages tied around his forehead, the dried blood in his bangs, shackles still secured around his wrists. The luminary winces and wrings his hands together when he sees the carefully bandaged wound on the liar’s arm. Looking away to dismisses his discomfort, he figures the fatigue must really getting to him. Gritting his teeth, he affirms to himself that he did what he had to. Kokichi was out of control.

Rather then think about the creature on the bed, Momota glances at his sidekick, instead. They had made up earlier today, but later still argued pretty tough when it came down to the decision as to what to do with the injured Kokichi. But now, Saihara is confiding in him, looking for advice. Maybe he just needs to get Saihara to calm down, then finally get some shut-eye before another wretched morning begins. Sleeping in the hanger certainly hasn’t been any good for his illness, and Momota is convinced that he needs to be functioning as best as he can if he’s going to be any kind of leader for the group. 

Now, Shuichi’s folded his arms. It looks like he’s coming to another conclusion. “Momota, Kokichi was—is—a human. I mean, if he really got us trapped here, if he really destroyed the hope for humanity, then maybe...” The detective looks lost for a second, but quickly shakes his head. “No, he doesn’t deserve this, and he probably didn’t do this to us. Besides, something seemed fishy about his earlier declaration. Then there’s this room.” Shuichi gestures to the dimly lit surroundings: the bizarre Amami statue, the now knocked over whiteboard, and the rubber horse head they brushed of the bed when they came in. Momota agrees that the room doesn’t seem to fit the liar, and suggests that they search it for evidence. But again, his friend disagrees, saying that if they ever want to get Kokichi to trust them, then they need to investigate on the liar’s terms. Momota doesn’t think they’ll ever get the Kokichi to trust them so they might as well raid his room while he’s down, but he feels to tired to argue.

Rubbing his eyes, Shuichi gives Momota a determined stare. “I’m certain. I’ve put two and two together, and something doesn’t add up. Kokichi’s still hiding something.” Nodding, he gives Momota a small smile. Not knowing what else to say, Momota congratulates his sidekick and ruffles his hair. 

Standing there, Momota’s forced to think about the red notebook that Kokichi had hidden in his coat; in the back was a half-complete jumble of Kokichi’s phrases, a unfinished script for someone to use, no, for _himself_ to use in a trial to imitate Kokichi after murdering him; and in the front was a few dozen methods of bizarrely complex suicides. Trying to get some sleep earlier, Momota had banished the thought of the document from his mind, but with Shuichi’s new claims, the thought of it is back into relevance. Hell, he ought to give it to Shuichi, the detective out of any of them should’ve been the most able to decode it. But then, of course the detective would stay up that much longer deciphering it, and hell, they all needed sleep. He’d save mentioning it for tomorrow. 

At first, Shuichi insists on watching Kokichi to see if he’ll wake up, but Momota convinces him to let Kiibo take the task. Making sure the concerned detective gets back to their own room before his sidekick works himself into another panic Momota thinks he’ll finally be able to get some blasted sleep. He’s been so tired lately, and his chest hurts too damn much. Surely, he’ll feel less like coughing up a lung in the morning. 

 

_______________

 

Just as smoothly it swirled away, the world fades back into focus again. Though, unlike the strong shadows and blinding lamp from last night, everything is defined in a soft greyscale. The first things he sees is the bedsheet, pressed flat, then the knocked over whiteboard. It seems to be afternoon. Staring off at his open door, where the light is coming from, he wonders why he isn’t wearing any shoes, before wondering why he’s even in his bed. Wasn’t he not supposed to ever come here again? His forehead hurts and the world is uncharacteristically silent, until he hears for the faint rustle of someone moving next to him. Could it be... Shuichi?

_Yumeno._ Kokichi did not expect Yumeno. Kokichi was disappointed by Yumeno. She seems to be dazing off, fiddling with a deck of cards. Actually, she’s playing solitaire. On his bed. Looking up, she freezes in the middle of a move to see him staring back at her. A single shiver runs down her spine. Biting her lip, she gives him finger guns and backs up slowly. After getting a few feet away, the magician wordlessly dashes out of his room. 

When the box of markers she accidentally kicked on her way stops skittering across the floor, the world returns to it’s earlier silence, leaving Kokichi with his thoughts and his pain. He finds himself in quite a bit of pain, localized to three sources: a pain in his arm, a pain in his chest, and a pain in his head. For some bizarre reason, recalling yesterday is a bit difficult for him. It’s a feeling he remembers from when he first came to the academy, back when when the death game started. He decides to try to remember each of the ways he got hurt. The pain in his arm is from when Momota shot him, the pain in his chest is from when Maki kneed him in the back, and the pain in his head... is from the anguished look of concern Shuichi gave him. 

No, looks can’t give you headaches, _dummy._ What gave him the headache was when Shuichi told him he’d always be alone. But that wasn’t right either, words didn’t _really_ give people headaches, no matter how many times Kokichi’s classmates complained about the liar’s words doing just that. Then he remembers the pain was his pride. If the ringing was alarms signaling disaster, then logically, the pain was his pride. But really, both came from the sharp _bang_ Maki gave his head he now remembers.

Just as Kokichi becomes content with this thought and begins to settle back down to rest once more, Shuichi dashes into the room yelling Kokichi’s name again. Upon seeing the injured boy sitting up, the detective stands still, holding his breath. Shuichi’s golden eyes are watery and filled with hope. For a few seconds, the two stare each other down like that, but soon Kokichi feels far too tired to deal. As soon as he rolls over and pulls the sheets up over his head, the detective springs into action again, ordering Yumeno and Momota, who followed him into the room, to get busy cleaning and setting stuff up. Yumeno tries to stealthily slide her game of solitaire off his bed and into the box, but she ends up strewing them all over the floor. Shuichi reprimands her while Momota pushes the boxes to the corners of the room. His books, littering the floor, are then stacked on top of the boxes. All of his precious collected evidence is thrown in a pile, too, with his horse-head crowning the pile. Yumeno’s in the bathroom, running water, Shuichi is rummaging through the first aid box, Momota’s looking right at him, wearing a strange expression. When the luminary sees Kokichi staring back, he curses faintly and looks away. 

Still chattering to others, Shuichi drags him out of bed and into a chair. “Kokichi-kun, you can’t go back to sleep yet, you might relapse. We have to run some tests and change your bandages and get you changed into comfortable clothes— it’s all in the book, Kokichi!” Propping him up with a pillow, the detective gives him a clipboard with a set of tasks on it before checking up on Yumeno. In the background of the chaos, Momota awkwardly excuses himself from the room. Kokichi hardly has the chance to wonders what that was all about before Shirogane enters the room and leaves a soft looking pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt on the bed. Smiling, Shuichi thanks her, and Yumeno comes back out of the bathroom with the refilled tray of warm water, leaving it on the table before leaving. Kiibo pops his head in for a few seconds to investigate the commotion, and is sent off with a handful of the dirty sheets Shuichi stripped from the bed. 

And just like that, everyone’s left the room, only Shuichi and a dazed Kokichi remain. Gently, Shuichi pries the clipboard out of Kokichi’s hands and checks off the first item on the list. “There, thanks to Momota-kun’s help, there won’t be any stuff on the floor for you to trip on.” He patrols the room once more checking the ground for any stray books or boxes, but appears satisfied. “Next, we’ve got to clean your hair and change your bandages.” He drags the table with the water in it over to the chair Kokichi’s sitting in. Shuichi stands next to Kokichi, and pins back the injured boy’s hair before replacing the bandages. After removing the old bandages, Shuichi wipes down Kokichi’s forehead once more with a clean towel before applying fresh bandages. He works slowly, but methodically and carefully. Kokichi remember back when Shuichi wrapped up his hand, and wonders why he isn’t laughing now. He wonders if he should. Taking action seems overwhelming at the moment.

The detective pulls out a fine tooth purple comb that Kokichi recognizes it from his own bathroom. He feels vaguely indignant, but if that shows on his face, the other boy doesnt notice it. He’s already begun combing the dried blood out of the liar’s bangs. As he dips the comb in the water, he explains to the liar about how Yumeno mixed the water in the tub with the shampoo they found in the bathroom, then explains how Kokichi won’t be able to take a shower or bath until he fully recovers, because he’s at risk of fainting from the heat and drowning and hitting his head. In response, Kokichi just blinks slowly, staring at the warm water that’s beginning to mix with his blood. It reminds him of a tank he once saw full of piranhas.

Running out of things to say, Shuichi goes silent, continuing to work the bangs, dragging out knots and little flecks of dark red that melt away into the water below. Slowly, Kokichi turns to look up at Shuichi, who shrinks away from the flat gaze, accidentally brushing the liar’s cheek. Kokichi watches him then inspect his hand and frown, before running a damp washcloth over it and continuing with the combing. After a couple minutes of the gentle combing, Shuichi stops, and leaves to drain out the tub in the bathroom. While the detective’s gone, Kokichi runs his hands along the still-damp bangs. They’re clean and no longer sticky. The sensation pleases him, though Kokichi still feels vaguely upset about something. He feels like the world has been switching between slow motion and fast motion lately, and he’s struggling to keep up with it. Although he keeps noticing things, he can’t remember what they mean.

When Shuichi returns, he’s holding a bottle of makeup remover in his hand. “Uh, when I touched your face earlier, I noticed you were wearing—” Flustered, he gestures at his own face. “—makeup, so I thought...” Trailing off, the detective sits at table across from Kokichi. He takes up a cotton swab in one hand and dabs away at Kokichi’s face with a trembling hand. The liar stares at his face and tries to remember how he should be acting right now but comes up with nothing, so he just stares the detective down, who responds with a meek, shaky smile. “Y-you’re taking this well.” In awkward silence, Shuichi works for a solid minute and a half, before switching to Kokichi’s left cheek. Involuntarily, Kokichi flinches when the other boy touches his cheek, and the spot begins to ache again. Shuichi stops for half a second, but soon resumes the task, only to work for about ten seconds. Kokichi distantly remembers leaning into the mirror in his bathroom and covering up his face after Momota punched him a few days ago. He remembers smiling as the ugly bruise disappeared from sight, and practicing a few of his devilish, maniacal grins. The memories feel like the actions of another person. Maybe that was the Kokichi on the other side of the mirror, smiling sinisterly back.

Clearly uncomfortable at the sight of the bruise on Kokichi’s face, Shuichi stands up and stumbles back, tossing away the cotton swab. “Sorry. I-I’ll let you finish tomorrow.” Returning to his clipboard, he makes a few more checks before turning the page. “Ok, now I need to ask you some questions. This is _really_ important, so please answer...” His face falls as he realizes what he’s saying. “Truthfully.” For some reason, the boy’s expression just then makes Kokichi finally laugh. He doesn’t know why. Shuichi jumps at the sound. 

Sitting across from him, Shuichi starts asking questions. He says that he’s listing of symptoms of a concussion, and begins with yes or no questions. The detective reads out loud stuff like dizziness, nausea, and headaches, and Kokichi responds by nodding or shaking his head. He also checks off some silently, whiling skipping a few others. Finishing his list, he then asks if Kokichi’s hurt anywhere else. Impulsively, Kokichi nods and tells the detective about the bruise on his chest. The other boy frowns, admitting that there isn’t anything he can do about broken ribs, before passing Kokichi the bottle Tyenol. Shuichi specifies that acetaminophens are fine to take with a concussion, but aspirin and ibuprofen increase the risk of bleeding. These words pass without meaning through Kokichi’s head, and he pushes the bottle aside. Shuichi looks exasperated again and tells him to have a little faith, that they wouldn’t have bothered caring for him if he was just gonna poison him.

But Kokichi knows Shuichi’s a liar, he can’t be trusted. Didn’t he say that Kokichi would always be alone? The liar had been so upset that his beloved detective hated him at the time, but at least he was assured that his mask was working. Shuichi lied in that trial, too, and some times before that, though he was always awful at it. Like the time he trusted Kiibo to lie about not being able to see with his flashlights on, then Kiibo confessed that he didn’t know if he could or not. He even admitted his lies to the group at face value. It was terrible. 

And Kokichi liked that about Shuichi. Since Shuichi is such a garbage liar, Kokichi can tell when he’s telling the truth. So maybe before, when the detective told him he’d always be alone, he was telling the truth and it turned into a lie. And now, that lie’s ruining all Kokichi’s plans. He decides call him out on this inconsistency.

Kokichi tries to focus his eyes on the detective’s face. It wobbles a little, in and out of focus. “Shuichi- _chan,_ you’re a liar.” He slurs some of the words together. “Whatever happened to that whole,” he gestures his arms in the air, “‘forever alone’ thing?” Kokichi’s arms fall back limply to his sides. Despite Shuichi’s word’s positive implications towards Kokichi’s plans, remembering the detective’s denouncement still makes him feel bad, deep down. “You were lyin’. You lie all the time.” 

Shuichi tilts his head, and pushes out a lip, clearly thinking. “I mean, I guess.” He frowns. “But why would a Remanent of Despair care about that? Arn’t you thriving off of killing the last hopes of human kind?” The detective gives him an expected stare and waits for him to respond, and Kokichi is pretty sure he _hates_ it. Kokichi vaguely knows he shouldn’t talk about himself right now, so he needs to say something else. He’s got to cleverly change the topic, subtly, like he always does. Yeah, he can do this. 

“Enough about me, Shuichi- _chan._ ” Again, he curses himself for that damn slur. He misses the punch of his old articulation— he always said words with intention and tightness. Not to mention, that was the least subtle diversion he’s ever heard. “L-let’s talk about lies.” Shuichi looks up at him and sighs, but surprisingly, obliges. He leans the clipboard on the leg of the table, and folds his hands, and Kokichi continues. This is something he can rattle on about. “So there are lots of lies. There’s white lies, I think that’s... a pretty good, quality kind of lie. And, sometimes an obvious lie is a unobvious white lie. And sometimes, a person can think a lie is white, but then they’re lying to themselves about it being a white lie. And in that way, they’re white lying to themselves to save their own d-dang feelings. ” Kokichi’s head tilts over on his side. “And then there’s lies of omission. That’s an alright kinda lie, though I prefer lies of fabrication that cover lies of omission. Is that a thing? Eh, ask Momota, he’s pretty good at lies of omission.” The detective raises an eyebrow at that, and Kokichi thinks about a big strong spaceman coughing up blood. “N don’t me get wrong, there’s lies I don’t like, too. Actually, I’ve never liked lies at all.” He nods, staring down at his hands. All this talking is making him tired, but it’s gonna satisfy Shuichi’s stupid, curious eyes. “But you still gotta lie. After all, most things _are_ lies. Can’t be avoided.” Then, Shuichi’s expression transforms from one of understanding, to an expression of pity. Kokichi’s confused— he’s sure he didn’t say anything revealing, right? His head hurts and he can hear the damn ringing again. The sound’s making it harder to think.

Then suddenly it makes sense— his head’s ringing because Shuichi doesn’t isn’t buying it. _Crap,_ Kokichi thinks, he needs to be more frightening. Sighing, he runs his hands down his face, rubbing at his eyes to get into character. Ok, he’s got this. “Sh-Shuichi- _chan_ , I’m... evil.” No that wasn’t right that was terrible. Wait, _he_ is terrible, just look at what happened to Gonta and Miu and now he can’t even pull off his master plan to make up for it. Kokichi shakes his head to half to get the louder ringing out, and half to try and regain some composure. “I’m a _bad person.”_ He explains slowly and clearly, but Shuichi still doesn’t seem to be getting it, he doesn’t looks scared yet. Wait, is that not a lie, is this too straightforward? Clearing his throat, he settles for a classic catchphrase. “But that’s... a lie. ” But then he thinks about that phrase too much— well, he was lying about being a bad person, didn’t he have good intentions? He needs to finish this thought, was he telling the truth about any of those things being lies? “Or...” he concludes, “is _that_ a lie?” Honestly, at this point it beats him. The ringing’s making it hard to think. It’s taking up his thinking space.

Dammit, were any of those statements even lies? He’s supposed to be lying, he knows that much. All of a sudden Shuichi is standing and saying something, gesturing to the clothes Shirogane left on the bed, then Shuichi’s leaving, shutting the door behind him. Left alone, the ringing starts to die down. Kokichi decides to leave thinking about that what just said about lies for later. For a few minutes, he in the dark in a daze, trying to figure out what Shuichi told before leaving. Wait, he can ask now—Shuichi’s back in the room, arms full of bedsheets and looking disappointed. The detective moves the clothes to the table and spreads the sheets out on the bed. Coming over to where Kokichi’s sitting, he leans down and makes eye contact with the injured boy. “Hey, are you there?” He asks, quietly. Kokichi thinks for a second, then nods. “You need to change into these clothes, I had Shirogane-kun make them last night. They’re going to be more comfortable and easier to move around in. I’m going to go get you some food, so you should change in the meantime.” Again, Kokichi nods, so the detective helps him back over to the bed, presses the sweats into his arms, and unlocks his handcuffs before leaving. 

He doesn’t think much as he unbuttons his stiff jacket and pulls on the sweatshirt. Sure enough, it’s _really_ soft and comfortable, so he changes into the sweatpants, too. Lying on his back, he stretches out his arms as far as they’ll reach and relaxes like that. Everything still aches, but he feels much better. Despite everything being ruined, he somehow he feels more relaxed then he did before. The sight of his room, all tidied up like this, is really nice. Before, he wasn’t ever planning on seeing it again. Shuichi’s knocking on the door, saying something. Absentmindedly, Kokichi chews on his thumbnail. After what feels like seconds, Shuichi bursts through the picture of absolute panic, only relax after seeing Kokichi relaxing on the bed. Placing a plate toast and eggs, and bottle of grape _Fanta_ on the table, he huffs, but can’t mask his relief. “I was asking to come in, and thought you couldn’t respond because you’d hurt yourself.” The detective explains. Grabbing a sheet of paper from the corner of the room, he spreads it underneath Kokichi’s left arm and sits next to the boy cross-legged on the bed. Pinning back the sweatshirt’s sleeve, he replaces the bandage wrapped around his arm, and he tells Kokichi about the food he brought while he tosses the paper along with the old bandages in the garbage. Hesitantly, Shuichi reaches over and holds Kokichi’s hand by the wrist, feeling for a pulse, taking about how he needs to check for circulation. Kokichi notices are how gentle and soft Shuichi’s hands are. More then ever, it feels like a dream. Things feel very far away, now.

The task complete, Shuichi helps Kokichi over to the table and offers him the food. While Kokichi’s not feeling very hungry, Shuichi just asks _so nicely_ that he has to oblige. He’s feeling really sleepy— he even thinks there’s milk in the Fanta bottle. Shuichi says something about how filled an empty bottle with something that would be easier on Kokichi’s stomach, but it definitely tastes like grape Fanta. A final time, Shuichi helps him back over to the bed. His mouth is moving but Kokichi can’t hear him saying anything. He hadn’t noticed it’s coming, but the ringing is back. It plays in his ears as he watches Shuichi’s back disappear behind the door. The instant it’s shut, Kokichi’s out like a light. 

 

_______________

Momota had been planning on giving Shuichi the notebook over breakfast, and taking some time to discuss what they’d learned about Kokichi so far, he really had. But then, Yumeno came bursting in, shivering and exclaiming that Kokichi had woken up, so they’d lost the chance. Now, Shuichi was again spending his time trying desperately to save the only classmate they could. During breakfast, the two of them had hardly had the time to talk, but Shuichi made sure to make the reasoning behind his actions clear to Momota before leaving. 

The detective hadn’t ever had the chance to save any of his classmates before. Their bodies were discovered before any action could be taken to recover them, and now they finally had the chance to do that, even if it was with everyone’s least favorite classmate. Shuichi has said that his actions were making up for his prior regrets, and Momota had to respect that. He had to wonder, though, if the detective was getting too obsessed about this—ordering everyone about, working himself into a panic. But no doubt, when Shuichi saw Kokichi all broken up, he saw Kaede and Gonta and Angie and everyone else all over again. Momota was finding it so hard to imagine there was less then half of them left.

With that thought, Momota had visited with each of his classmates, encouraging them to not lose hope. Each of them expressed how glad they were to see him back, and since he kept eating the pills he jacked from one of the first aid kits, his guts didn’t even hurt that much. Momota spent another hour or two talking with a relieved Maki before returning to his room and climbed back into bed, only stirring once to hack into the sink. Washing the blood down the sink and thinking about the notebook, he muses that there’s now two red things for him to work to ignore, now. Three things, if he counts his feelings about the bandage wrapped around one of Kokichi’s skinny little arms, though that one’s not red. Banishing all these worries of the back of his mind, he tells himself as always that he does what he needs to, and sleeps for another two hours. The next knock on his door is Shuichi, who bursts in chattering all about Momota’s least favorite headache.

Shuichi shoves the clipboard in Momota’s face, pointing out the checks on some orderly chart. It looks like he copied the page from that medical textbook he’s been treating like a bible. “I was able to check off a few based on my observations, and Kokichi nodded for the rest. He’s definitely badly concussed, it’ll take _at least_ a few days for him to recover.” The luminary goes to speak, but gets interrupted. “I think Maki got him pretty good, he’s not acting right at all. I mean, it’s good, he’s compliant, but it’s like...” Again, he sighs, letting the breath hiss through his teeth. “He’s like... play-dough, it just feels so _wrong._ I think it’s disorientation, and maybe minor memory loss. When he did talk, he continued being obscure as always, though. In a more nonsensical fashion, but that hasn’t changed. ” The young detective crosses his arms, giving Momota a determined stare. “He said something about omission that caught my interest, though.” His firm stare falters. “Momota, you aren’t hiding anything, right?” 

“Well, I mean...” Momota leans back, scratching his head. “You already know about my illness, right? It hasn’t gotten any better.” Shuichi looks frightened, and Momota immediately regrets telling him. He needs to be stronger then this, he needs to be a symbol of hope. They must’ve been missing him the past few days. “Don’t worry about all that, though. I’m sure I’ll be fine, as long as I take it easier. Maki’s agreed to help me out.” Shuichi still looks pretty concerned, so the luminary decides bring up something else. “Uh, there’s another thing you’ve got to see— Maki pulled it off the little bastard while she had him pinned.” Walking to his dresser, he pulls the red notebook off the top of it and passes it over to Shuichi. “I think it might be some kind of red herring, but it’s unclear. I’m warning you, it’s messed up stuff, like.... murder plans. I don’t like it.” 

“ _Murder plans?_ Shuichi carefully inspects the cover, but doesn’t open it. “Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have left him uncuffed, Momota-kun.” 

Momota gapes back at him, incredulously. “You left him uncuffed, after what he did? Do you seriously not remember the Exsials? I heard some stuff about some kinda despair disease thing from the others today, too.” Shuichi huffs back, half-ignoring Momota and sitting down on the bed to read the notes on the back cover. Momota folds his arms and looks away. It’s just like that little brat to be splitting them apart even while he’s deathly ill. “Anyway, I didn’t want you staying up another 3 hours last night picking apart that journal. You looked beat.”

Shuichi looks disappointed, but nods. “Your heart was in the right place, I guess. Thanks, Momota-kun.” He gives the taller boy a small smile, before resuming analyzing the book. “Anyway, I wouldn’t have left him free if he wasn’t totally helpless right now. Seriously, he was in no condition to be walking, let alone be scampering around causing mischief and setting up death traps.” His inspection done, he flips open to the first page, where a list of the names of his classmates have been crossed out, excluding Momota’s, which has been heavily circled. There’s a interlacing web of factors filling up the rest of the page, some crossed and some circled. 

“Creepy, right?” Momota remarks with half-crack of a smile. “Hey, the meaty stuff’s a couple page’s in.” Feeling more comfortable going through the book with Shuichi, he sits next to the detective on the bed, reaches over his shoulder, and flips it couple pages forward. Shuichi’s clearly annoyed by this, but reads the page he flipped to anyway. It’s one of Kokichi’s more dramatic planned deaths, involving a knife, some ropes, and poison. Most of page, including the title, is scribbled out, and ‘TOO PREPOSTEROUS’ is written in purple all caps on the bottom. Shuichi grimaces before Momota flips to another page. This one has a snarky title, something to do with a ‘pressing situation.’ A tiny, smiling, purple Kokichi doodle is giving the plan a thumbs up—Shuichi points out that it matches the drawing on Kokichi’s whiteboard. The detective’s hands, bone white and gripping the book tightly, are shaking as he flips a few dozen pages to the back of the book. In the back there is an incomplete script, a jumble of classic Kokichi catchphrases loosely focused around driving in a point. Momota notices that Shuichi’s beginning to look downright _depressed._ “If only he gave us some kind of introduction to this jumble, right? Glossary would’ve helped, too.” Momota jostles his sidekick’s shoulder to try and lighten the mood.

Shuichi’s next words are quite and soft, he sounds like he did when he first came here. “These are suicide methods. He was planning on killing himself.”

“Oh.” Momota doesn’t have the words for that, so he wrings his hands instead. Frowning, he reasons that it doesn’t make sense: Kokichi was the mastermind, right? He’d seen that evil up close and personal, laughing in his face while he was trapped in the hanger. “Naw, I don’t think he that kinda sissy, like Hoshi.” As soon as the words come out of his mouth, he immediately wishes he could take them back. Shuichi looks horrified, and he feels real guilty. “Sorry, shouldn’t speak ill of the dead and all. But seriously,” he barks out a short laugh. “That makes no sense, dude. You’re making up stuff you don’t even have to worry about. Kokichi loves this dumb game, what the hell would he get out of... _doing that_?”

Again, Shuichi looks defeated. The exasperation is raw in his voice. “I mean, I don’t know, but what else can this be? A series of murder methods only he’d be crazy enough to pull off, and a half a script in the back addressed to _you_ to imitate him during a trial.” Frowning, he closes the notebook and stands up. “Maybe this doesn’t fit in with the Kokichi we’ve figured out, but then, maybe that Kokichi is just one dimension to him. One of the only things we know for sure is that he’s a confusing guy. I’m going to take this back to my room to analyze it, alright?” Momota shrugs, figuring that the detective will have a better shot at it then he did. Hell, he’s glad to have it out f his room. He could hardly stand to open the thing, it was so creepy.

As he leaves, Shuichi turns to face Momota, silhouetted in the frame of the door. “One more thing—don’t tell anyone about the notebook.” 

“I don’t think Kokichi would want that.”

 

_______________

It’s so damn frustrating, Momota should’ve given him the notebook _immediately_. The sooner Shuichi manages to get to the truth of Ouma Kokichi, the more information they’ll all have to get out of here. With all the contradictions of the liar’s character, he’s beginning to understand that Kokichi may be crucial to figuring out the truth. It’s entirely possible that Kokichi could have even figured out the truth himself already, and was just hiding it from the rest of them, like he had secret of the outside world. Understanding Kokichi felt like progress, and at this time, Shuichi really needed that feeling. It was in his nature to believe long as there was truth to be discovered, there was hope. He’d faced down the most terrible truths before, and he was sure he could do it again. 

Sitting on his bed, he fiddles with his old hat as he thinks about the situation some more. Seeing Kokichi in that wretched state disturbed him more then he liked. It was like the kid was an entirely different person, someone unsuccessfully pretending to be Ouma Kokichi. Three kids in a trenchcoat pretending to be supreme leader, he thinks with a chuckle. The brief amusement quickly gives way to true heaviness of the situation, and Shuichi grows unnerved again. Always so bright and fast before, Kokichi had become so frail and weak, really looking more like a kid then ever. It was embarrassing, like he was seeing something he wasn’t suppose to. The situation could be summed up with the discomfort he felt when he saw the dark bruise on the side of Kokichi’s face. He’d been on the receiving end of one of Momota’s justice propelled punches before, and the memory was not a pleasant one. Perhaps Kokichi bruised easier then Shuichi did, or perhaps Momota hit the liar much harder. 

Shuichi had to wonder if Kokichi had been hiding his pain and other secrets the entire time. In that way, Kokichi was rather like Momota, concealing his pain and standing proudly with a smile on his, like a burning martyr. If the notebook was to be believed, then that’s exactly what Kokichi had been planning to do, for reasons extremely unclear. Shuichi was extremely grateful that tragedy hadn’t come to pass, and wished that it was his actions that prevented it. Maybe then, Kokichi wouldn’t have gotten so badly broken up, too.

Even though the liar was a massive headache, like Momota always insisted, Shuichi couldn’t deny his interest in the boy. But st the same time, despite his curiosity and the very pressing reasons for figuring out Kokichi as fast as possible, he felt it was necessary to respect Kokichi’s boundaries, too: partially out of sympathy as being a shy person, and partially out of vain hope the liar might finally place some trust in them. That’s why he hadn’t let his classmates rifle through Kokichi’s belongings, and why they returned the motive video on his bed to the drawer. If the liar had the kind of trust issues Shuichi thought he did, then he wouldn’t want to ever be seen weak. Even with Kokichi in the state he’d been in, Shuichi noticed that the boy continued concealing his nature. Though the liar had found that task difficult, seeming extremely confused, and was so _distant..._

Getting up off the bed, he clears off a desk and sets up a new workspace centered along the journal. In the center lies the notebook of interest, and off to the right some spare sheets for him to record notes and observations on. It’s going to be a long night, but he’ll get to the meaning behind this journal. It’ll be one more piece worked out of the brain-teaser that Ouma Kokichi makes himself out to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dudes thanks for all the super friggin nice comments, im super glad y’all liked it! so the little bastard lives another day, and this fic gets another chapter. i hope you enjoy this one too!
> 
> also did anyone see me upload the new chapter for 2 minutes only to delete it and beta it properly?? haha I didn’t wanna read this chapter again, I made it too damn long. but i did, and i actually think it turned out much better. i rewrote the entire last sequence, too. shuichi is considerably less butchered ur welcome fellas


	3. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One night’s events.

Kokichi awakes in the night to see a pair of golden eyes in the dark staring back at him. Shuichi’s there, with dark bags under his eyes, looking relieved. Leaning down, he speaks quietly, barely above a whisper. “Kokichi-kun, I’ll need to wake you once every three hours, to make sure haven’t relapsed into a coma.” Blearily, Kokichi blinks at the boy, who’s already leaving. Once Shuichi’s out of the room, it’s not long before Kokichi is fast asleep once more. 

________________

The next time he wakes, Shuichi is shaking him. Looking nervous, the detective informs him he seemed to be having a nightmare. Kokichi tells him it was about bugs. Shuichi’s quiet laugh rings through the dark, and asks if him if he was dreaming of the Insect Meet and Greet from what feels like so long ago. Kokichi clarifies to him it was about Gonta’s execution, and the other boy’s face immediately darkens. Before he leaves again, he gives Kokichi’s shoulder a grounding squeeze. 

_________________

When Kokichi wakes after that, he sits up so fast it makes his head hurt. All of a sudden he is very, very aware of what happened today. His plans were ruined. Everyone thinks he’s pathetic. Shuichi has the key to his door. The situation is dire. He needs to get out of here, and make it to someplace safe where nobody can find him and he can figure out how to salvage his plans. These past two day’s events may be a setback, may be a _major setback_ , but he can fix it. He just needs to make it to a place where he can think. 

As he slides to the edge of his bed, thinking about today’s conversation makes his eyes tear up. How could he be so _stupid_ and _slow?_ Either Shuichi thought he was an idiot now, or Shuichi had precious puzzle pieces to figuring out his identity. Probably both, actually. Kokichi groans as he gets up from the bed, massaging his temples, only to sit back down. Strange, he felt pretty dizzy when he stood up. Moving over to his wall, he stands once more, and finds he can support himself as long has he’s clinging to the wall for support. 

Walking slowly in the dark, he drags himself to the door of his room, and manages to swing the heavy door open and get through. Standing barefoot in the dorm’s common room, he sways against his door and it shuts behind it with a click. The pain in his head is sharp, and for the first time he’s beginning to feel nauseous, too. Unsteadily, he drags himself over to the railing of the platform and hangs off it. Looking down, he feels like his room is a lot higher up then he remembers. Kokichi’s still pinned to the railing as he drags himself over to the stairs, thinking only of the places he’ll hide once he’s out of here. There’s a couple safe spaces he scouted out a few days ago that he’s fairly certain no one will find. 

First, there’s the challenge of getting down these stairs, though. Still swaying, the thought of going down them makes him feel ill. He wishes that the railing wasn’t so thin and flimsy, and that there wasn’t the gap between each step. But kind of supreme leader has ever gotten stuck on stairs? Bracing himself, he sets an shaky foot on the top step. 

He only makes it about 4 steps down before his trembling legs collapse. At once, he is very, very relieved, sitting much closer to the ground. The world has stopped its incessant wobbling. But panic surges in his chest as he realizes he can’t summon the strength get up again. Beneath his bare feet, the metal floor’s uncomfortably cold, but he doesn’t dare cry out. It’ll be hard to explain, but he’ll just have to wait until Shuichi comes to check on him again. 

Ruefully, he comes to the realization that when he decided to run for it, he must’ve still not been thinking clearly. With a little more of a grasp on the situation, Kokichi had let his fear and anxiety control the situation and allowed himself to be blinded to the truth of his weakness. It was yet another a disappointing failure. 

Hearing a door creak open, Kokichi lifts his head. He appreciates that it’s not Maki, but is let down that it is not Shuichi. Rather, Momota’s standing in his own doorway, staring the liar down. Heart racing, Kokichi tries his best to psychically will the luminary back into his room, but instead the other boy steadily walks forward to him. 

“Kokichi! Hell, did _Shuichi_ do that to you? Or did you do it to yourself?” Momota exclaims, pointing to the dark purple bruise on Kokichi’s face. The liar had forgotten it was even visible. He lets his shock and disgust at the exclamation show on his face, making the luminary jump back a bit. It’s immensely satisfying. 

“Uh, _you_ did this to me, _a few days ago?”_ Leaning against the railing, he smiles smugly up at Momota, trying to seem like _yes this is very much intentional._ The luminary frowns at Kokichi’s claim, and scruffs his goatee. 

“Stop lying, that’s not possible.” Momota counters indignantly. “I’m sure you didn’t have it yesterday.” 

Kokichi folds his arms and pouts back, tucking up his legs a bit further. “Duh, makeup’s a thing, idiot.” He snaps. “Alas, my beloved Shuichi-chan, caring as he is, removed it.” Back when he put the makeup on, he considered not applying any just to make Momota feel guilty. But he hated how the blemish looks so _ugly_ on his face. The makeup might’ve turned his face into a white, unfeeling mask, but at least it turned it into a prettier one. 

Momota raises an eyebrow. It’s unclear whether or not he believes Kokichi. Putting a hand on the railing, he stares the liar down. “Alright. Well, here’s a better question: What the hell are you doing?”

Kokichi looks away from the luminaries’s face, staring off into the dark depths of the hallway. There’s not many great ways to cover this up. _Play it cool, Kokichi._ “Just chillin.” 

Momota sputters out a noisy laugh at that, and it reverberates far too loudly around the chamber. “Like hell. I bet got it in you manic little head to run, but couldn’t get down the stairs, and now you’re trying to cover it up. Sorry dude, that’s pathetic.” That grinning meathead Momota seeing through his ruse makes Kokichi’s trickster heart plummet. Kokichi’s had better nights.

“Well just _‘scuse me_ while I flex my muscles, man up, and overcome the concussion your _girlfriend_ gave me.” Kokichi shoots back, face heating up. In a snap second he regrets it—he isn’t be able to run if that pisses Momota off. Luckily, the luminary just laughs it off. He walks over to where Kokichi’s stuck on the stairs and sits across from him. 

“So, short stuff. Shuichi’s been pretty convinced, saying that you arn’t any kind of mastermind.” Jostling his leg, he locks eyes with the liar, who meets the challenge with equally firm eye contact.

“That’s just wishful thinking.” Kokichi sighs, folding his arms, and puts on a remorseful face. “If Harukawa had the fortune of snapping my neck, you’d be free about now, instead of dying from an unknown illness in a prison-murder game, along with the rest your idiot friends.” Kokichi stares the luminary back down. While there’s not much point in spouting that old lie, the delivery is excellent, completely confident. It’s extremely satisfying, after today’s events, to acknowledge that he still has that in him. But frustratingly, Momota only seems concerned at his words for a few seconds before shaking his head. 

“Right, right. Thought I’d try. Well, do you need any help getting up?” His heart pounding and his throat tight, Kokichi silently makes a very small nod. Dammit, his concussion, still making his head ache, hurt less then this. Oh well, it’ll be over quick—the luminary just has to support him up to his room. Stooping, Momota stretches an arm around him, accidentally brushing Kokichi’s crossbow wound hidden beneath his soft black sweatshirt. 

Involuntarily, Kokichi flinches shrinks away from Momota’s touch, pressing into the railing. “D-don’t touch me.” He tries to say it firmly, but his voice quivers a bit in the delivery. Momota immediately backs off, raising his hands in the air. What the hell? He’d honestly given into the help, but he couldn’t control backing away. But he’d only asked for vaguely asked ‘help’ in the first place, maybe he could work with this. Kokichi clears his throat to speak again. “I-I’m just thinking that Shuichi still has my key _anyway_ , so we’re gonna need to get him up for me to get back into my room.” Momota looks carefully at the other boy’s face before nodding, standing, and walking over to Shuichi’s door to knock. 

Peeking around the luminary, Kokichi can barely see a disheveled Shuichi, hair all mussed up, greeting Momota. He’s scowling, face flat as Momota awkwardly explains the situation, looking sheepish. The detective strides over to where Kokichi had fallen and squints at him. Smiling, Kokichi waves back with feigned politeness. Bending down, the detective stretches an arm across the liar’s back and helps him up. Steps still wobbling, Kokichi’s fists tensely hold tight to the boy supporting him as the two walk up to Kokichi’s door. After fiddling with the key, Shuichi helps him to his bed and wearily scolds him lightly before returning to his own room. Exhausted, Kokichi barely has the time to reflect on what a disaster that whole encounter was before he slips away into deep sleep. 

 

______________

Momota had overslept during the day, and had been pacing in his room when he heard someone outside fall on the stairs. Curious, he’d looked outside only to see _Kokichi_ , who’s escape the luminary had been fearing, clinging to the staircase’s railing with his legs shaking like a fawn. Begrudgingly, Momota had to admit Shuichi was right—Kokichi wasn’t in any shape to be prancing around like usual, wreaking mayhem and terror. Seeing him try to cover up his weakness when pressed had been fairly hilarious, too. It was a real subversion of power from before. That’s why he’d decided to sit and mess with the kid some more.

When he’d pressed the liar with Shuichi’s theory, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Now, he did feel like the mastermind claim was a lie:the brat’s delivery was ruined by the compromising situation he was in. If anything, he should’ve been more shaken up about it all—it felt far too clean, convincing and practiced. The mastermind wouldn’t ask for death that obnoxiously dead steady while entirely incapable of standing, there wouldn’t be any point to it. Well, he wouldn’t have ever been clued into the lie if it weren’t for the red notebook, he admits. The encounter forced Momota to acknowledge how smoothly Kokichi must have been delivering his lies before. Seeing through the liar’s claims feels pretty damn satisfying. When he called the liar out on that lie, his face really did flush up from embarrassment or anger. It was the first time in a while he’d seen a blush on the kid, so what he said about makeup must’ve been the truth.

Now, what made him nervous was the way Kokichi flinched away from him. There was a brutal, honest fear in his face when he shrank against the railing. Momota could relate, knowing that he couldn’t stand it if he got held up in the way Kokichi was now, all shaky-legged and dependent on the aid of their classmates to get by. He believed his pride wouldn’t allow for that. Thankfully, he was sure he wouldn’t need to—he was still coughing up blood, but it felt like his illness was getting better. Surely the pain pills he was taking must’ve been working really well. 

______________ 

Shuichi spent most of the night digging through the notebook for clues, only getting a few hour’s sleep. He got up only few times to check on Kokichi, and once by Momota to help the liar back to his room. At the time, he was too exhausted to press Kokichi with what that was all about. He’d ask both of the other boys what that had been about in the morning. 

On the inside of the front cover was some easy-to-miss identifying information. This seemed to be the third journal Kokichi had kept of the ‘B’ variety, whatever that meant. Shuichi wondered if Kokichi was hiding the other journals he’d been keeping in the many boxes of files stored in his room.

One interesting thing about the book was that it seemed to be gone back through and edited it with a purple pen. At first, Shuichi had only noticed that purple was a color often used to cross things out or circle them. But in addition, the incomplete script was mostly written in purple. Shuichi figured that Kokichi had initially written out the book in black ink, and the purple writing was his revisions. While the black lines were unadorned and almost purely deductive, the purple lines tended to be crueler, self-deprecating and often sarcastic. They mocked parts of his previous writing and made terrible puns. Kokichi also used the color for doodling: on parts that mentioned Gonta or Miu as part of his plans, Kokichi had added purple ink gravestones reading RIP, beetles, wrenches and screws, accompanied by scribbly little ‘frowny faces’. These classmates still featured heavily in some plans written out in the first portion of the book, and all plans they operated in had their names throughly crossed out in purple ink. Thusly, Shuichi deducted that Kokichi must’ve began this notebook sometime before their death, and the purple ink was his additions after Gonta’s trial. 

The most dreadful part of the part of the book to read was the disturbing first section, in which Kokichi had come up with a variety of methods of killing himself. Many of them were painful and generally awful ways to go, and Shuichi hated imagining them. As if reading them wasn’t bad enough, they got suddenly nastier and more painful after Kokichi switched to using purple ink. Unnervingly, the descriptions also got more jovial and pun filled, though Shuichi felt more anger and sadness from the words. One plan had more attention then any other— the smiling, doodle Kokichi he saw before it a thumbs up. This plan took place in the hanger, and used the press as a murder weapon. Shuichi found his hands shaking when he realized that the liar must’ve been planning on going through with this method just before Momota escaped. The thought really upset him. So, Shuichi took a break, pacing around his room a bit before settling down in front of the book once more. He had to finish this.

Frustratingly, what wasn’t apparent was _why_ Kokichi created the plans. Shuichi couldn’t find a single trace of an explanation as to the reasoning behind these plans. Kokichi wasn’t simply killing himself, he was using their classmates to murder himself, and doing that had a bizarre set of circumstances that remained consistent. Always, the electrobomb had to be set off before he executed his plan, so any automated electronic systems were ruled out of his methods.

While the first large section part had been more upsetting, the second part was purely maddening. It’s incompleteness made it difficult to dissect—there was a lot of words, strewn about at random through most of it seemed to be typical Kokichi nonsense. Shuichi wasted an hour picking it apart, and was trumped until he got stumbled across page that accused Monokuma of not knowing who the victim of the case was. From there on out, the purpose was fairly clear— Kokichi was creating a case where even the dammed bear wouldn’t be able to figure out who the victim and the culprit were. But as to _why_ Kokichi would give up his life to create this situation was still unclear. Shuichi considered that he might be trying to free them from the school, but there wasn’t anywhere to go even out of the murder game. 

No, Kokichi couldn’t be that self-sacrificing, there was more to it then that. After all, Kokichi loved the murder game—no, _claimed_ to love the murder game, and was almost certainly a compulsive liar. But if that line was untrue, then the liar’s words would have to undergo a lot more scrutiny. From there, the other lies fell like dominos, but he was too tired to follow where they went. Tomorrow, he’d try making a chart to try and figure it out. That train of thought would need a lot more analysis. 

Shuichi found the last page to be the most curious out of all of them. It was a conclusion to the script section, neatly scribed in black ink, that instructed Momota to not be upset at Shuichi if the detective solved the case. It claimed that while in this scenario, Shuichi would’ve ruined their plan and nullified their sacrifice, they couldn’t allow the detective to lose hope and regret his actions. It offered some words to say to protect Shuichi’s feels. But below the three neat paragraphs was a purple inked, scrawled line insisting that this theoretical situation was nigh impossible so Momota shouldn’t sweat it. _Wow, thanks for the faith, Kokichi,_ Shuichi grumbles. 

After recording his analysis of the final notebook’s page into a notebook of his own, Shuichi lets Kokichi’s book finally fall shut and decides to get some sleep. Working had been mentally and physically exhausting, so he fell asleep almost at once, but that was little relief—Shuichi is soon faced with awful images once more. In more then one of the dreams, he imagines himself discovering Kokichi’s corpse, and going through the awful motions of investigating the crime scene. Then, he’s dreaming of arguing with his classmates during another long, exhaustive trial. Most excruciatingly, throughout this nightmare trial, the facts keep changing themselves, coming from each of the methods Kokichi wrote. Everything’s all jumbled up together and it’s impossible to work through, impossible to get to the truth. Once the trial is complete and they’ve voted on one of their classmates as a murderer, the dream only starts itself over again, with Shuichi finding Kokichi’s destroyed body once more. 

After jolting awake from the latest nightmare, he checks his alarm clock. It’s about 2 hours before breakfast, and 20 minutes before he has to check on Kokichi again. Nevertheless, he leaves his room anyway, not wanting to face those dreams again. 

Shuichi feels a smile crossing his face as he enters Kokichi’s room. The liar looks so peaceful sleeping. He pauses to watch the faint rise and fall of his chest, and feels some hope. This sight is nothing resembling what the awful methods in the book would’ve reduced him. That was all just a nightmare. For now, Kokichi was _fine_. Beat up, but so very, very alive. 

It felt contradictory. Kokichi had always been a nefarious little headache, Shuichi found it so odd to be feeling anything other then unnerved around the boy. Lately, he’d been feeling a surprising amount of pity for the liar. With the more recent revelations, Shuichi figured, perhaps it wasn’t unusual. Before, he’d assured Momota that he’d only cared for Kokichi to make up for those he failed to save, but was that really true? Deep down he really just hoped that Kokichi would live because he wanted to see him alive. It was in his good nature. They’d have to work more on figuring out the truth. But for now, he has a job to do, and if he stands here any longer it’s gonna be creepy. Moving closer to the bed, he quietly repeats Kokichi’s name a few times to get the boy to wake up. 

Kokichi opens his eyes and Shuichi feels thankful. The injured boy looks well rested, and has a sleepy smile on his face. “G’ mournin, Shumai.” He slurs the words together, rubbing at his eyes. Blinking slowly, he turns to look up at the detective with contented expression. “Haha, you look like _shit._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, i like to shoot the shit, but real talk: is this oumotasai???? damn, it may be. it could also be none of the ships, i have little to no control of my writing. is there too much filler in this one? is that even filler?? i donut kno.
> 
> as always, thank y’all so much for the nice comments!! it propels me forward and makes me write angsty stuffs. things should pick up a bit next time! seeya then!


	4. Sympathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your regularly scheduled happy sassy Kokichi is back! Just the same as always, right?

“No, really, you look like shit. Where’d you find a bus to hit ya this early in the mourning?” Kokichi’s got a cheeky grin from ear to ear, and Shuichi’s pleased expression drops right into a blend of disgust, surprise and disappointment. As much as Kokichi was enjoying that smiling Shuichi, this face is also pretty high quality. 

If he were to be perfectly honest, Shuichi could make pretty much any face and if it would be adorable. Frowning, soft smiling, shyly looking away, looking shocked and flustered, Kokichi always admired the detective’s ability to pretty whatever he was doing. Then again, this was ruling out the ice-cold glare the detective gave Kokichi when he claimed the liar would be forever alone. That expression was _right out,_ along with Shuichi’s torn, uncontrolled crying face that sometimes sent painful pangs through Kokichi’s chest in the worst ways. But that was then, this was now, and Shuichi’s golden eyes were pointed away from him, only showing annoyance. 

“Well, I see someone’s feeling better. How’d you sleep?” 

“Oh, a lot better then you, it seems!” Kokichi smiles and delivers that with a laugh. Despite everything, it feels so good to be back. Yesterday was all sorts of painful, like moving through a cloud. He’s never had so much difficulty doing something as simple as thinking. Especially with his irrationality actions last night, this return of clearer thought is reassuring. It’s also refreshing to be in much less. His head still aches dully, and his arm stings even as he shifts it slightly. His chest, too, is store, and his mouth is dry, but compare to before, he feels almost fine and dandy, good enough to sass Shuichi some more. “Yeah, I snoozed _great_ , despite the whole, waking me up every 5 minutes thing.”

Shuichi sends a glare to the carpet. Kokichi remarks to himself that the detective still hasn’t nailed that eye contact thing 100% of the time. “It was necessary. Speaking of getting woken up, why did Momota wake _me_ up during one of the few chances I got to sleep?” As if to prove a point, Shuichi runs a hand through his rather unkempt hair. 

“Oh, I just wanted to go for a walk and quickly learned that wouldn't be happening. Sooorry.” Even though he kind of means the apology, sarcastic tone annoys Shuichi. Hey, Kokichi finds being genuine hard, and it’s not his _job._

Shuichi doesn’t dignify the retort with a response. Rolling his eyes, he pulls out his trusty clipboard. Kokichi laughs when he sees it, and Shuichi throws him a snippy glare. Not a glare of hatred, just a lovely, simple little glare of pure annoyance. “Ok. Here’s today’s list, I’ll get started with the first item.” Giving Kokichi the clipboard, he disappears into the bathroom. The first item on the list is bandages, so Kokichi realizes he should move over to the chair. 

It’s just as difficult as it was last night to walk. Once he’s standing, his room tilts uncomfortable around him. Maneuvering to his chair, he’s relieved to sink into it, letting out a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding. The room settles, only tilting the normal amount, and Shuichi comes out of the bathroom with his sleeves rolled back and holding the plastic tub of water. He smiles to see Kokichi sitting in the chair, and placing the water on the table, moves behind the liar. 

Involuntarily, Kokichi flinches when the detective first touches the his head. He manages not to flinch again after that, but can’t help stiffening up and sinking his chewed fingernails into the couch’s plush arms. Shuichi finishes unwrapping the old bandages and dabs down Kokichi’s forehead using a paper towel soaked in warm water. Kokichi feels a drop of liquid roll down his face, but doesn’t move his clenched hands to wipe it away. Shuichi finishes with that task, takes up fresh bandages and begins applying them. Clearing his throat, Kokichi moves his eyes to look at Shuichi’s face, but can’t see it. “Uh, can I do this myself?” Shuichi pauses and Kokichi takes the opportunity to turn his head and see the detective. The other boy has a mixture of confusion and disbelief on his face. Damn, he should’ve known that was a stupid suggestion. “Nevermind! It was just a joke, a joke!” Unamused, Shuichi snorts and picks up again wrapping Kokichi’s head. 

The detective rolls back Kokichi’s sleeve and goes through the motions once more, while asking him questions like before: does have a migraine, dizziness, nausea, etc. Kokichi responds to all the questions with a jovial ‘Nope!’, causing Shuichi increased anger and annoyance with every dismissal. Once he finishes, he tosses down the clipboard on the table with a clack and takes the tub to the bathroom sink to drain it. Kokichi picks up the clipboard only to see that the detective didn’t mark any of the boxes off. Wearing a devilish smile he fills it in truthfully. After Shuichi comes back out and takes the clipboard back, and checking the front, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Can’t we have done this the easy way?” Kokichi just shrugs in response, wide smile still plastered to his face. 

Automatically, the detective reaches forward and grabs Kokichi’s arm, placing two fingers on his wrist. The liar immediately stiffens, and Shuichi looks surprised and perplexed. “J-just checking your pulse!” He squeaks. 

Handing Kokichi the makeup remover, Shuichi recommends that the liar go to the bathroom to take off the rest of it. He says he’ll wait outside just in case the liar falls while brushing his teeth, that the book advises it. Kokichi objects to that, so they bicker about it a bit. 

“What’s stupider— me waiting outside the restroom for you to finish, or you falling in the bathroom, cracking your head open on a sink, and bleeding to death because I didn’t wait out here? Then we’d have _two_ deaths from bathroom appliances. ” Determined, a flustered Shuichi sighs, crosses his legs, and pulls out a small book—probably some murder mystery. Kokichi frowns back, snags his old scarf from the bedpost and stomps into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. 

He does feel a bit woozy standing in here, but if he leans onto the sink for support, he can see himself pretty clearly in the mirror. The first thing he does is fix his makeup. With just a few quick touch ups, the large, ugly bruise quickly disappears from sight, but Kokichi still isn’t satisfied. Reaching up he gently feels the bandage on his forehead. The area is still tender, and Kokichi hates how it makes him look so _beat up._ Loosening the scarf from around his neck, he folds it in half and ties it around his head, forming a fairly cute bandanna. Tucking in the edges, he can completely obscure the bandages from sight. At first he admires his handwork, smiling, but frowns when he notes that this leaves his neck exposed, showing the bruises that Maki gave him. Taking up his makeup again, he fixes that blemish, too. Leaning back to check himself once more, he carefully inspects his neck in the mirror. It’s not perfect, but it‘s an considerable improvement. 

Maybe this means he’ll get less pitying looks. Maybe this means things can go back to normal. Letting go of his iron grip on the sink, he suddenly realizes that his world is falling very fast. Thankfully, he catches himself on the counter before he hits the ground, heart thumping away. He gives himself a second or two to recollect his wits before finishing cleaning up and heading back out into his room, hanging onto the wall for support. 

True to his word, Shuichi’s still outside, engrossed in his book. When he hears the bathroom door shut, his head shoots up. Looking troubled, he asks why Kokichi was wearing the makeup again. Flipping his hair, Kokichi shoots back some nonsense about always looking good, and Shuichi smiles a nice, tired smile before asking why Kokichi’s wearing his scarf differently. Snipply, he shoots back a too-honest comment about not wanting to look like someone who’d be easily murdered when he’s walking out. Shuichi chuckles awkwardly at the comment, and tells Kokichi that the liar probably won’t be able leave to his room on his a few days— not without a wheelchair, crutches or other support. Kokichi balks at this idea. There’s no way he’d agree to look so pathetic. The thought turns his stomach, and frustrated, he quickly rips the carefully arranged bandanna off his head and throws himself face-down on his bed. The dramatic action makes his chest ache again. Thankfully, the detective leaves to get them some lunch. 

Now that Shuichi’s out the door, Kokichi has a proper chance to think. The dumb thing about this whole plan was he intended for Shuichi to find most everything out eventually. He’d set up trail a thin trail breadcrumbs for the detective to follow, and had a surprise reward at the end. ‘Here’s a shocker! I’m not the mastermind and also wasn’t a murderer!’ Then, he could be laughin it up from his grave as Shuichi grabbed confusedly at the pieces of what he was (supposing it really would’ve been _pieces_ by that point) and face none of the consequences of Shuichi’s searching eyes finding some truths about Ouma Kokichi. 

Chewing at his thumbnail, he reasoned that by this step of the process, he was suppose to be extremely dead. That’s why he’d set up the dominos of evidence for Shuichi to tip, right before establishing the last few steps of his plan. He’d never really considered what would happen if he survived, let alone if he survived disabled as he was now. Maybe, he reasoned, he could find out some other way to kill himself, bring back one good ol’ methods in his notebook. 

Then a chill ran through his whole body. Momota had his notebook. What the hell did that mean? Maybe it explained why he seemed a bit odd when they talked last night. No, killing himself definitely, certainly wouldn’t achieve anything now. It felt like a bit of a relief, actually. In his head harshly reprimanded himself for being so useless and dumb, for failing his plan, but couldn’t help the floaty feeling growing in his chest. It felt so confusing, he wasn’t suppose to feel this way, he was a disappointment, a waste of good lies, a Rube-Goldberg Machine paused in the middle. He tried to plummet that positive feeling but it, as if filled with determination, stayed just as fluffy and glowing as ever. Unable to banish it, he decides to leave coming to conclusions on both that feeling and how salvageable his plan are for a later date. 

Shuichi soon comes back in the room carrying two trays— one with his own breakfast, cold cereal, and one with Kokichi’s, a bowl of purple oatmeal with a bunch grapes on the side. He’s also carrying a few closed bottles of water one which Kokichi readily accepts, breaking the seal and gulping it down. Finding that he’s actually pretty hungry, he digs into his oatmeal, finding that tastes like... blueberries. The slushy texture is disgusting, though, so he slows eating, lazily stirring it instead. Shuichi sits across from him and crunches down his own cereal in silence. Finding that he’s unable to finish eating, Kokichi sets the blueberry slop aside and digs into the grapes. Kokichi’s surprised to find he sincerely enjoys them: the grapes taste fantastic, and have a great texture. His last meal might’ve been snack bars, now that he thinks of it. Both of them finish their meals in silence. As soon as Kokichi’s popped the last grape in his mouth, Shuichi takes up the trays and sets them on a shelf.

Surprisingly, Shuichi suggests that the two of them play a card game, and reveals a set he brought. Kokichi smiles at the detective’s forwardness—it confirms that Shuichi is, in fact, still trying to figure the liar. He’s not sure what the searching golden eyes are looking for, but for now, he’s happy to play. 

The card game is fun. Kokichi suggests War, but Shuichi insists on Rummy. While they play, Kokichi chats up a storm about all the nonsense he knows about. Like usual, he goes on and on about his fictional organization, making up facts about it as he goes. As usual, legitimately find it fun, thinking of all the absurd things he’d do as a supreme leader and watching Shuichi’s reactions to them. It’s a shame he seems to be the only one amused by the dithering— the detective appears caught up in focusing on the game itself. At least he’s not stuttering and constantly trying to figure out which statements are truth and which are lies, like normal. The detective only occasionally interjects with comments on Kokichi’s imaginary life, brow furrowed.

All of a sudden, Shuichi breaks his concentrated expression and smiles one of his soft, sweet smiles at the other boy. Even though he know’s it’s one of Shuichi’s lies, Kokichi feels his heart flutter. He’s better then this—that sudden smile is certainly forced. He’s aiming at something. “Kokichi, can I watch your motive video?” 

Kokichi sends a sweet smile right back at him. In a sugary voice, the liar responds, “Over my dead body, darling _Shuichi-Chan.”_ Two can play at this game. (He means it, too—once he’s a corpse, that motive video is completely fair game, since he won’t have to deal with the aftermath. But he doesn’t say that. )

Shuichi sighs deeply, his facade of a smile immediately dripping off his face. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted, playing pretend get-along.

“Aw, don’t look so down, Shuichi-chan. I live to entertain, after all! Or to be entertained. Actually, check that, we all live to entertain. ” Ooo, that, that was art. That was a masterfully played truth among the lies, a little nod to the audience that seems like nonsense. Sooo good. Eh, he might not have anything to die for anymore, but at least he’s got something to live for! Maybe for now he’s just got to really satisfyingly mix truth and lies, abandoning all purpose. But then again, that’s not very Kokichi— he’s working towards some kind of purpose again, even now. He just doesn’t get what it is. But surely, as long as he keeps the persona up, he can use the time to figure out a way to use their hate. Speaking of hate, Shuichi’s expression is looking pleasantly dark across from him right now. He’ll be playing his next move any second now.

“Kokichi-kun, we know getting people ‘down’, making them utterly miserable is how you get your entertainment. That’s what you did as remnant of despair, right?” Shuichi looks across the table with a scrutinizing gaze, jaw clenched. “After committing all those _atrocities_ in the name of Junko Enoshima?” He shuffles the cards in his hands. 

Out of reflex, Kokichi barks out an awkward laugh in return. “Wh-what now?” Could they know about DICE? But Shuichi didn’t seem to be coming at it from that angle. His true character, or rather his character according to game’s canon, was already established as a harmless prankster. Was remnant stuff kind of retcon? But contrary evidence to that already existed in the form of his Monopad... the one that he’d never, ever want Shuichi-chan to see. Dammit, he should ask what the detective’s going on about, but not in a forward way. “Shuichi-chan, I’ll be frank. And Frank has no idea what kind of looney stuff you’re going on about. Actually, Frank was luckily spared from this whole killing game until now. Maybe digging out some,” he wiggles his fingers for emphasis, “ _magic flashlights_ can get him up to speed, though. He’s going to be our replacement...” He taps his foot, thinking for a second. “Amami. Like, an even more mysterious Amami then our previous Amami. Maybe... he’s even an old member of my secret organization! So bring ol’ Frank up to date, alright?”

“Uh, if he was a member of your organization, he’d know all about the Remnants of Despair?” The detective looks confused for a second, then shakes his head, clearly reprimanding himself for playing along with the liar’s games. Shuichi focuses on his cards, shuffling them while looking frustrated. It seems as though he doesn't have everything he needed for his next play. He bites his lip. “Don’t play dumb, Kokichi.”

“Hey, I’d like to think this is playing smart! Frank doesn’t know jack, alright? I mean, he thinks he might know Jack, but real, _nobody_ gets Jack. See, Jack’s got a really complex double/triple facade thing going on, and alas, his beloved Frank gets iced before he ever gets to see Jack’s true, sensitive heart.” Sniffling, Kokichi wipes a crocodile tear from one eye. “Which is good, because Jack is revealed to be the mastermind after all! But a mastermind,” he solemnly finishes, “with the most tragic of backstories.” 

Why... is he doing this? I mean, this whole Frank Jack thing is fun, but he realllly needs to be learning about the remnants right now. This is an entirely unnecessary obfuscation, and Shuichi’s growing increasingly impatient with the gag. Finishing his tirade, he notices that his head... hurts right now, worse then the aching pains he woke up with. Absentmindedly, he massages his temples and tries to not crinkle his eyes. Out of the very few things he’s bad at hiding on his face, pain’s one of the worst, he can never get his expression perfectly convincing. (Sometimes he’s bad at hiding crying, but only he’s surprised with something really upsetting—he can be a real crybaby when he gets down to it, so it’s excellent he’s proficient at covering it up afterwords. As long as he says that was a lie and dries his tears fast, people never believe it. It’s convenient that there’s little that people dislike more then crocodile tears.)

There’s little risk of the detective spotting his pain now, because Shuichi’s looking away. Away from the liar’s face, away from the card game, at a little spot in the carpet that his eyes frequent. Kokichi wonders what could possibly be so interesting about that spot— if he could figure that out, then maybe he wouldn’t have this boredom problem. Whatever it was, it’s gripping importance has released Shuichi for now, and the detective is staring back at him. Unfortunately, his face is hard to read, though his eyes seem to be searching. 

Abruptly, he places his cards face down on the table. “I quit.” He admits. Kokichi lets out his best whine and (truthfully) pleads for the detective to stay a bit longer, but the other boy shakes his head. “I’ll send someone else to keep you company in a bit.” Pushing in his chair to the table, he gives whole room one last look before making his way to the door.

Silently, Kokichi rises from the table after him. It would be uncomfortably boring being alone and stuck here, but definitely he didn’t want any more people seeing him in this pathetic state if he could help it. “D-don’t!” Stopping with his hand on the doorknob, Shuichi turned to look back at him. Standing on his own, Kokichi feels his legs wobbling underneath him. Raising his chin, he puts on his sassy voice from earlier. “Don’t bother, Shuichi-chan. I’ll find something to do—my amazing garbage collection will be more interesting then those one-dimensional morons.” Looking at Shuichi’s face now, Kokichi noted that the other boy now looked more plain exhausted then angry. Sighing, the detective turns the handle and tells Kokichi to sit down before leaving the room, pulling the door to a click behind him. The room is engulfed in silence.

Taking a few steps back, Kokichi falls back onto his bed and raising his arms up over his face, smothers himself in soft, sweatshirt goodness. The pressure and the darkness lets him think about what Shuichi’s expressions must’ve meant, but he gets caught up thinking about the way Shuichi’s lips purse and his eyelashes and the effeminate curve of his face. Cursing the thoughts away, the liar ruefully admits that the affectionate feelings that he holds for the detective are nothing but a barrier to him. However, he finds himself unwilling to lie away precious feelings—they’re one of the few things that let him feel _nice_ , a pleasant little secret to fixate on. He knows that he shouldn’t keep them, that they’re weak and lame, but he can’t help but treasure them. 

Thinking about today’s interaction, Kokichi reaches over to the bedstand, snatching up the Tylenol bottle. Strangely, it’s been stocked with only two pills. Setting the bottle back down, Kokichi decides that he needs to be pushing back more. But his legs are so shaky, he’s worried that any solid shoves would only backfire and end with him metaphorically landing on his face. He’ll have to find some leverage, then—or target weak point. But first, he’s got to not go stir-crazy over the next few hours. 

 

________________

 

Shuichi immediately returns to his room, pulls out an old notebook, and turns it to a fresh new page. That game may have not very informative, but he still has a lot of other clues to work with to come to a new conclusion on the nature of Ouma Kokichi. Seeing the liar again has left his mind whirling with thoughts and questions regarding Kokichi’s true nature, but it’s going to take a good old-fashioned brainstorming session to pull these clues into something semi-coherent. 

First, Shuichi needs a list of hypotheses supported by pieces of evidence. When he’d gotten enough, he’d attempt to come to a conclusion. There was two places he’d get true evidence: 

1\. Cracks in Kokichi’s facade  
2\. Truths Kokichi liked to mix in with lies. 

The first was a bit easier to find, mixed into the words a muddled Kokichi said to him yesterday, and the second was more difficult. The detective was certain that Kokichi delighted in weaving truth and lies together, only learning so in retrospective of previous conversations. No doubt there were truths mixed into the most recent conversation, maybe even down to the pointless Frank Jack nonsense. Right now, he was using these truths to piece together one hypothesis in particular:

 _Kokichi Ouma is not the mastermind._

By now, Shuichi felt that was fairly obvious, and Momota had actually agreed with him when he met him during breakfast. Kokichi had only been playing the role, pushing their classmates away to seem like the mastermind. But just because he wasn’t the mastermind didn’t mean he couldn’t be a remnant, though Kokichi seemed to know nothing on the subject. Perhaps he couldn’t remember being a remnant, having not seen the flashback light. Anyway, this hypothesis dismissed Kokichi as an immediate threat, and if it were to be proven correct, then the of rest Kokichi’s character was called into question. Speaking of, Shuichi had a hunch the following was true: 

_Kokichi Ouma hates lies._

He’d said it yesterday, while confused, and repeated it before that, too. It always seemed like an obvious lie, yet it might’ve been a truth mixed in. He frequently lashed out when Shuichi lied, or back when Maki was lying about her talent. Kokichi hated when their classmates easily believed each other’s lies. It was strange, since Shuichi had felt that Kokichi was the essence of a lie, or a personification of a lie. If Kokichi was a lie, then this statement would indicate that he hated himself—which was backed up by his journal, filled with cutting self-deprecating humor, words he used to stab everyone else with turned inwards. While muddled, he’d also claimed that most things are lies, and that he had to lie. Did Kokichi always control his lying, or was there some level of compulsion to them?

Kokichi’s self hatred played into Shuichi’s next deduction:

_Kokichi is upset about Gonta’s death._

This theory began gaining traction when Shuichi discovered the doodles in Kokichi’s book, but it was also backed up by the nightmare the liar had last night. Finally, there was the liar’s words just before Gonta’s execution. Sobbing, he had asked to be executed along with Gonta, and he also said that he ‘didn’t want this.’Afterwards. Kokichi claimed that saying he was only sparing Gonta’s feelings. But that made no sense, his goal was furthered by making people hate him. If Kokichi regretted Gonta’s death, then perhaps that drove his self-hatred further. This is the feeling he got from the notebook.

What was important about that led to the next hypothesis:

_The ‘Killing Game Busters’ were legitimate._

Why was Kokichi, who’d claimed to love the killing game from the very start, planning on losing the game by killing himself? Then again, Kokichi didn’t always like to win his games. No, he lost most the games he played with Shuichi, or tied them. But it never really felt like Kokichi losing, since the liar was never upset about losing. Perhaps Kokichi was trying to tell him that, in a sideways manner—there’s the game, then there’s what the game outside. It losing the game means gaining some kind of favorable circumstance, then it’s wiser to lose the game. 

What would occur if Kokichi’s plan had succeeded? Well, Monokuma wouldn’t have been able to tell who the victim or the culprit were, let alone who killed who, so they wouldn’t have been able to hold a trial. If they had, they probably would’ve gotten the truth wrong, due to everyone loathing Kokichi. After that point, Monokuma would have two options—kill them all, or leave them alone. According to the ‘Killing Game Busters’, they were better off dead then knowing the truth. Perhaps Kokichi would’ve succeeded in dragging everyone down with him. There was a gap in the reasoning here, but still: Kokichi would have effectively ruined the murder game. 

Perhaps that was Kokichi’s motivation, to kill everyone—but then, he might as well have done so with the Exsials. No, this was about the game itself. Surely he was still missing something, even if he couldn’t figure out what. He felt like Kokichi still had secrets he kept alluding to in his confusing way. Piecing apart his blabbing about his organization, Amami, and something about _Frank_ and _Jack_ was going to be a major headache, though. 

It seemed too unlikely, there wasn’t nearly enough solid evidence. He couldn’t convince Kaito or anyone else with this theory. Heck, when thinking about the liar’s callous attitude and heinous actions, he could only half-believed it himself. Perhaps he was trying too hard to clear Kokichi’s conscious, he was being too hopeful, he was drawing a far-fetched conclusion. Shuichi knew he’d always been soft, perhaps his pity for the liar’s pain had lead him to sympathize with him. Then again, perhaps the liar’s renewed pushing was also effecting his deduction. A conclusion eluded the detective. 

Shuichi was still puzzling over this when a sudden memory returned him. In it, he was talking with three old friends, though he couldn’t remember their names. Hazily, he remembered them congratulating, remembered the pain in his chest when his friend coughed and hacked, remembered wanting to somehow to save him. As the memory fades, he feels hopeful. He’ll get to the bottom of this. 

 

_________________

 

This morning, Yumeno wakes with determination. She rolls out of bed in a tangle of bedsheets and clothes and only lies there 5 minutes before standing, and even changes her clothes for the first time in a while. Today, she’s got full MP, and she’s got something to show everyone, and nobodies gonna stop this mage—

But when she gets to the dining hall for breakfast, Momota’s already taken front and center. He’s waving goodbye to Shuichi and everyone else is gathering around with their breakfast trays. Standing up in front of everyone, he makes a moving speech about never losing hope and defeating Monokuma. Yet, today nobody is seeming particularly moved. Maki is angrily staring at her pancakes; Tsumugi is twirling her hair; Kiibo is staring blankly at, well, nothingand so Yumeno decides just to eat her marshmallow cereal. It’s not a crowd that’s particularly willing to stand up to him—excluding Maki, maybe, but she’s embraced the stony silence. Not for the first time, the mage thinks that that there’s almost only passive people like herself left over. Pouting, she wishes for Momota to go away, but he only gets more and more wound up, trying to inspire them to take action. Yumeno decides to be the first speak her mind.

“Momota, there’s nothing left to escape for. I mean, we were gonna get Kokichi and, do something, but...” Confused, she slowly swirls the marshmallows in her bowl. Wait, what were they gonna do to Kokichi? 

“But _someone’s_ protecting that bastard.” Maki stabs her pancake vindictively and crams it in her mouth. Kaito seems nervous at the violence of the action.

“Hey, come on now!” He waves a hand at Maki, trying to break her angry glare glued to her breakfast. “Shuichi’s thinking there’s no way Kokichi is the mastermind, and that he’ll get crucial information out of the brat. We can trust Shuichi, right!” Maki ignores him, and viciously tears another piece out of her pancake. 

Tsumugi laughs awkwardly. “Yeah, we can trust him. I mean, it’s not as if there can be two masterminds... right?” 

The loaded question hangs awkwardly over the table, and everyone goes quiet. Tsumugi covers her mouth and looks away, Maki chews her pancake, Kaito’s face goes bone white, and Kiibo... is still staring off into space. Yumeno wonders if he’s even listening. 

The silence is disturbed when Momota has a coughing fit. Surprised, Maki slams down her fork with a clack and immediately starts helping him off. Together, they leave the cafeteria. A splotch of the astronaut’s blood is left on the table, and no longer hungry, Yumeno dumps her unfinished cereal into the trash. Returning to the others, she decides that maybe she has enough MP left over to salvage her day. 

“Alright, gamers... check _this_ out.”

Yumeno’s holds up a white envelope up for Kiibo and Shirogane to see. Scrawled on it were the words, ‘This isn’t a will.’ Despite her sour mood, she still feels pretty smug looking at it. “I turned it up on Kokichi’s floor while playing, uh, unintentional 52-pickup.” 

“Can I see?” Kiibo’s already reaching for the envelope, but the mage waves it out of his grasp and hands it to Tsumugi. 

“So does that mean this is a will? Kokichi was a liar, after all...” Tsumugi turns the note around in her hand, inspecting it. Kiibo shakes his head in response. 

“We do not have sufficient information to draw a conclusion!” He exclaims. “Opening the letter will quickly and easily give us such information.” Raising his hand, a small blade clicks out from one of his fingers. Yumeno gives a small ‘eep’ and Tsumugi shakes her head. 

“Yumeno, Shuichi asked us not to go through Kokichi’s things. Is this really the right thing to do?” Yumeno is surprised to hear the cosplayer objecting, and waves her hand to dismiss it.

“Nahhh, I’m with Kiibo on this one. Th..this is our opportunity get something done, for once.” She nods. Even after she resolved to be less passive, she found herself frequently upset that she hadn’t done much to help out. It upsets her to betray the detective’s trust, but this is her chance. “Shuichi... doesn’t have to know about it. ”

Tsumugi looks at the two of them, then smiles. “Well, alright, if we’re in this together!” 

Kiibo and Yumeno lean forward and watch on bated breath as Tsumugi picks apart the seal with a well-manicured nail. The only thing to come drifting out of it is a single, measly sticky-note. Yumeno lets out a exaggerated sigh and sinks back into her seat, while Kiibo just tilts his head with a polite ‘oh.’ Scrawled in the same handwriting is saying that a ‘second message’ is located on the wall next to the boiler near the garden. 

“That’s disappointing.” Tsumugi states plainly. “...Should we show it to Kaito and Maki?”

“Wellllll, I was planning on showing Kaito! But he was kinda intense, I don’t wanna fight Monokuma. So, instead... just you guys get to see it.”

Yumeno was driven to show the envelope to the others when she regained some additional memories of her master. She was fired up her up, but she didn’t quite know what to do with this extra MP. So, the mage decided to try and party up with some of the other survivors—Tsumugi seemed smart, pretty and nice, and Kiibo was... a robot. Maybe they’d actually do something for once. Kiibo suggests that they go check out the boiler immediately, and Tsumugi agrees.

“Nyargh! I guess this round-table meeting turned into a field trip, what a pain!” Yumeno slaps her palms down on the table and pushes up, marching out of the room. She smiles when she sees Kiibo and Tsumugi follow. 

But the clue behind the boiler is hardly any more informative—it’s just the letters “twins b.”Yumeno groans and sinks to the ground while Kiibo takes a picture. This is it. She’s truly been defeated. She can go no further. Tsumugi offers to get Shuichi’s help, but Yumeno turns that offer down, not wanting to be yelled at. She lies there on the ground for a while, and soon, Tsumugi walks off. 

Oddly, Kiibo stays, sitting down and leaning against the wall. Pulling his knees to his chest, he doesn’t look at her, just kind of creepily stares off into space. “I’m sorry.” Rolling over to face him, the mage tells the robot there’s no purpose to apologizing at this moment in time. He’s such a dense, buggy robot. Dumb old useless robot, maybe more useless then her. She bets he doesn’t even have MP, he’s gotta use action points.

But Kiibo shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry for you. If my deductions are correct, then that is a phrase humans say when they are feeling pity towards another human. This morning you seemed excited, and now you appear to be feeling purposeless. And I can understand that a bad feeling, because I can relate to that. If I am correct, that is how sympathy works. ” 

Yumeno tunes out half that wordy response, barely registering it. Kiibo take too much effort to talk to. He goes off anyway, talking on his own.

“The harrowing revelations about our situation has brought a new dimension to my existence, and I am appreciative to have had time to compute the new data. Despite having three nights, I have yet to come to a conclusion as to my purpose here. To clarify, lacking reproductive organs, my role on this mission appears entirely pointless. And even then, I still have very little understanding as to the meaning humans establish behind gender. My experience from your friend, Tenko has made me wonder what she claimed to be so important about gender.”

Yumeno sighs. What is this, an essay? Man, this guy’s sooo dry. Not catching onto, or ignoring her lack of enthusiasm, the robot continues.

“Overall, I can relate to your feeling purposelessness. Humans state that talking through things helps them understand them, yet I still have come to no conclusion on that matter. I felt obligated to tell you such feelings because there is no one else left.” The robot frowns, dropping his head. “There is no one else left.” He repeats, seemingly trying to think out loud. “Sometimes Miu used to work things out with me. She called me a coding rubber duck. I would prefer to be talking to Miu. I _wish_ I could talk to Miu.” Yumeno pulls herself to her elbows, finally paying attention. “I _miss_ Miu.” He concludes, sounding wistful. 

The hurt in his voice stirs old feelings of sympathy in the energy-less mage. She doesn’t know what to say, but she tries her best.

“I’m sorry. I-I miss Tenko, too.” 

“Before, I wondered if the definition of ‘friend’ applied to Miu, as I did not understand my relationship with Miu until I began to miss her. This is a similar situation to what you have experienced. ” 

“Yeah.” Yumeno nods, sitting up and wrapping her arms around herself. “That’s how it works.”

 

_________________

 

When Shuichi returns to the liar’s room, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Kokichi had made a mess of his bed, covering it with his drawing papers, was still rapidly fussing with them when Shuichi entered the room. He remembered seeing them when he first entered the room, and wondering if their purpose was to obscure his real files. Now, the strange crayon inventions are strewn about the room once more, as Kokichi’s dumped out a whole box onto the bed. Looking up from his flipping through the pages, the small boy gives Shuichi a cheeky grin before returning to his work. Sighing, Shuichi feels obligated to ask, even through he knows he won’t get a straight answer. “What are you doing?” He drones, the disappointment clear in his voice. 

Kokichi has one of his smuggest grins on his face. “Well, you and your lackeys messed up my organization system! So now I need to find my old papers, and I had no idea where it was! Really, with the way you’ve been ordering them around lately,” he laughs, “it’s a real mystery why you’re not the supreme leader here! ” Aimlessly humming as he tosses the box he was fishing through aside, he grabs another one and gasps as he pulls out a shitty crayon doodle of a red ray gun with a rainbow laser coming out of it. Obnoxiously, he waves it in Shuichi’s face, and the detective recoils a bit in surprise. “Loook, the Gay Gun 2.0! This one’s a classic, alright.” He nods solemnly, abruptly changing moods. “Shame I offed Miu before she finished this one, right? And shame Akamatsu died before Miu could’ve gotten any use out of it. She wasn’t just planning on taking my life, you know—” He pauses for dramatic effect, looking shocked. “—she was planning on taking your waifu!” 

Kokichi’s obnoxious, ringing giggle hits Shuichi’s ears with all the grating effect of a out-of-key note. He felt like he was really making some progress yesterday, but now he is back to square one. There is entirely a possibility of just walking out of this room, right now, leaving it behind and never looking back. Why... did he even come here? Why the hell is he subjecting himself to this? Why had he ever thought there was anything more to the damn liar? 

The liar pouts, presumably at Shuichi’s lack of reaction, and returns to his meddling. Taking a closer look at the other boy, he notices that the liar’s wearing his scarf as a bandana again—and that bandages wrapped around his head have come a little loose. Sighing, he tells Kokichi that if the liar is feeling up for it, he’ll take him to dinner. A undisguised, wide smile spreads across the liar’s face and he readily agrees. 

Kokichi leaps up from the bed—a little too fast. One of his legs buckles under his own weight and he goes down in an instant, knocking his jaw squarely on the chair. Alarmed, Shuichi rushes to his side, only to find the liar hunched over but still plastering a big smile on his face. “Well, that’ll... take a little getting used to!” Laughing, his eyes grow bit unfocused, and his grin falters. Distressed, Shuichi rests his hand on the injured boy’s side only to feels him cringing and shaking. When the liar sees the upset expression on the detective’s face, he laughs a little. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m faking it! Just to make you feel _bad._ ” The liar sucks in a shuttering breath and yet another shiver wracks his body. Very abruptly, the smile disappears from his face. Shuichi stands, and stumbling backwards, reaches over to the table to fetch the pain pills. They rattle in his shaking hand, and Kokichi immediately declines the offer. “I’m not _really_ in pain, Shuichi- _ch_ -chan.” He gasps. “J-just being a good actor! Like always.”

Even though he pushes away at first, in the end he needs Shuichi’s support just to get back on his mattress. Groaning, he rolls over on his side to face away from the detective, curling up a bit more and crinkling the childish drawing still tossed on the bed beneath him. Feeling positively awful, Shuichi tells the liar that he’ll get him some dinner, and in response Kokichi whines at him to shut up. 

When he returns with a small portion of meatloaf and potatoes, he finds Kokichi still curled up on the bed, face obscured by a mop of hair. Not turning to look, the boy raises a hand, limply waves it at him in greeting before it comes crashing back down. Shuichi tells the liar that he’s brought dinner, but the boy just covers his ears in response, saying something almost unintelligible about a noise being too loud to what the detective’s saying. Yet, the room is almost silent and still. Not knowing what else to do, Shuichi leaves the tray on the table and moves to the bed, sweeping the papers off into a neat stack before folding the blanket over Kokichi’s side. He notes the injured kid _crumples_ into it, quickly covering his already obscured face and letting out an awful whine. Shuichi leans over the huddled body and quietly asks if there’s anything he can do to help, but there’s no response. 

It’s opinion whiplash—just 10 minutes ago Shuichi felt the liar was as despicable as always, and now the detective is pitying him again. By the time Shuichi’s out the door and down the hall, he’s already thinking of how this new truth applies to his conclusion.

_When Kokichi is hurting he covers it up._

 

________________

Luckily for Kokichi, the first hour or two stuck alone in his room after breakfast weren’t so bad. Lying on the bed, he recovered an old notebook and and wrote down all the ways he could best pester Shuichi, eventually settling on making extremely tasteless Akamatsu jokes. After coming up with a few dozen bad puns and 4 renditions of priceless joke about banging on a piano that could’ve made Miu cackle, he considered starting another page to salvage his unknown-culprit trial plan. Instead, he doodled some shitty Akamatsus, smiling and playing piano. He was on his third doodle when Kiibo brought him a PB sandwich and an apple for lunch. Making sure to demean the robot before he grabbed the tray, he finished only half the sandwich. It was made of nasty strawberry jam, and he wasn’t feeling particularly hungry. Sitting back down in front of his notebook, Kokichi found that he couldn’t get started again, and clicked the pen for about a minute before getting up and carefully working his way around the room. 

Shuichi had left a book behind, some murder mystery. Kokichi flipped it open, but got about 10 pages in before getting bored. Oh well, sometimes reading didn’t work out like that. But, but that was okay, there was lots of other stuff in his room. While he was searching the bandages strangling his head became infuriating itchy, and the more he fussed at them, the less ignorable they got. So he tied his scarf around his head once more, this time more to try and distract himself than to disguise the bandages.

Rolling back into bed, he tried to sleep, but was way too wired to be tired. Trying to sleep was really boring, and it let his mind wander to trying to find out ways he could’ve prevented the fourth murder. Cursing, he tried to banish the unwelcome thoughts. He’s unsure if he orchestrated Miu’s murder with grim certainty and done what he had to, or if he’d let himself panic and act extremely rashly when his life was in imminent danger. After all, he’d had a much stronger drive to live back then. But the subject of how he could’ve saved Miu and Gonta was a pointless thought, it only ever looped back around on itself. Very recently, had become more important then ever to not grow bored, to banish such thoughts. It was easier to keep himself busy with working on his plans concerning the game, though since everything was messed up, it was difficult to do that, too.

(Previously, the subject he avoided thinking about had been Amami’s murder. Frequently, even after solving the Amami mystery and discovering the survivor’s room, he’d go back to the case repeatedly to try and figure out how to prevent the whole tragic circumstance. Even when he came up with preventive measure after near miss, it was pointless. It was just making him suffer.)

Shaking his head and fussing at the bandages again, he grabbed the pack of cards Shuichi left and spread it on his bed. Yesterday, Yumeno had been playing Solitaire, right? Playing with himself is no fun, though, and he hardly got through a single game before he started getting bored again, _thinking those thoughts again,_ so he left the game and moved over to the boxes instead. Taking one up, he dumped it’s contents all over the bed, spreading them about. Now there’s something he can get absorbed in. 

Messing with the papers, he reorganized them into stacks only to shuffle them once more. He pulled out his designs for the bug-vac, and tucked it under his pillow for safekeeping. A beta of that machine might still exist in Miu’s room, one of his classmates might be willing to fetch it for him. Right now, he didn’t want to go back to that lab. Eventually, his frantic sorting, pen-clicking, and nail chewing slows, and he shifts through the inventions a bit slower. Now more relaxed, he realized that that he must’ve been irrationally panicking again, just like last night. What another frustrating revelation. Looking up from the bed, he spots the Amami statue staring lifelessly back at him. Despite it appearing unsettling, the gaze could be pretty reassuring, which was part of why he’d snatched it. 

Like he does whenever he’s needed help—courage, motivation, validation, reassurance—he squeezes his eyes shut tight. In his mind, he pictures an older, green-haired boy resting on his elbows and staring him down with verdant green eyes. Silently, Kokichi mouths the words along with the image playing in his head.

_‘Hey, you’re smart. I know you can do it.’_

_‘Watch your back. Trust no one.’_

Later, when Shuichi showed up and offered to take him out of his boring room, in his eagerness to take that opportunity, Kokichi leapt off the bed too quickly. Before, he’d always moved nimbly and quickly, but in impatience, the liar made a crucial mistake. 

As he curls up in the dark under half a blanket, Kokichi clutches his head reprimands and reprimands himself. He should’ve moved so much slower, with care. Every fresh wave of pain was accompanied by thoughts of shoulda, woulda, coulda. It occupied his whole head, drowning out all other thoughts with ringing and awful, stabbing pain. 

He didn’t. He’d moved too fast, he’d bashed his chin hard, and now he was all messed up again. Kokichi wondered when he’d stop making mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this time, i updated my notes as a wrote! so today they are a tad long. also, this chapter is over half of fic’s length so far!
> 
> as always, thanks for the really nice comments!!!!! ya’lllll keep this goin! I got midterms coming up, which meant I got less done on this recently. i’d like to upload the next chapter sooner, though. 
> 
> i came up with some top quality misspellings in this one:
> 
> Kokichu, kokichi pikachu. Created similarly to sonichu.  
> Kokiji, a kokichi that won’t get it the damn robot. Get in the robot, Kokiji!  
> Kokichi)#, a kokichi that I mistype fairly frequently when I hit the shift button too quickly. i write on an ipad, they’re weird like that.
> 
> Irumatsu in my fic? it’s more likely then you think. kinda a joke nod to that ship.
> 
> Also did I say something would happen in this chapter?? Well uh I also said I have little to no control over my writing. y-you got yumeno, right???? yyyeeah that’s definitely what you’re here for. I am going places with this amami train of thought, though. 
> 
> this chapter and the next where originally one, but I ended up splitting them. Still don’t know if that’s gonna be a good idea, but this chapter was gonna be reeeeallly long if I didn’t. In other news, I wrote Kokichi scenes and then went around and filled the other ones in. That’s a bad habit.
> 
> here’s art i made for this fic! It’s, not the best, but I tried!  
> https://bigtroubleinlittlehopesacademy.tumblr.com/post/169678893426/shitty-art-for-my-shitty-fic-thats-updating


	5. Shame

_If you can’t dazzle ‘em with brilliance, baffle ‘em with bullshit,_ and Kokichi was surely as baffling as he was dazzling, though the detective would never say it. Surely, edging on provocation was one of Kokichi’s recent games of choice—maybe it always had been. Even when badly wounded, he continued to spin his lies into a concealing veil to hide behind. It came back around to that awful murdercide notebook, the liars master plan. The best way to assure that everyone would believe he’d killed Momota was to have everyone despise him as their over-the-top villain. To do that, he couldn’t have any cracks in the facade, show any kind of weakness. No expressing his grief, proclaiming love for the game, hammering in and hammering in his detestability to everyone around him. He hid away his pain behind sinister smiles, until... he was all alone. 

_Was Kokichi still planning on killing himself?_ Shuichi’s heart pounded with alarm and leaped into his throat at the thought, and his mind was greeted with images of a small, battered body. Walking back to his own room, he needs to steady himself on a wall for a few seconds, wait for his heart to settle, before continuing. Certainly, Kokichi was still baffling them with bullshit, still hiding his pain. But, the liar had been planning on sacrificing himself with a purpose, and if he had nothing to gain, then Shuichi was fairly certain he wouldn’t try anything. 

A nagging doubt dug at his mind—perhaps the sympathy Shuichi felt was folly. By no means could he prove that Kokichi wasn’t nefarious and sociopathic, and assuring himself otherwise involved deft leaps of logic tied together by observations of the liar’s character. Even if Kokichi had likely been hiding his emotional and physical pain, that didn’t mean he felt grief over the others deaths. At least Momota agreed that Kokichi was no mastermind, but Momota‘s beliefs were rarely founded in logic. Thank goodness, too, or Maki would be much more of a serious threat by this point. Momota was just about the only thing preventing the assassin from killing Kokichi, and that took a lot of arguing between them yesterday. The only thing he’d convinced them with was the idea that he was making _progress_ —and it did feel like _progress_. With maybe just a few more days, Kokichi would reveal what he knew. 

Like the night before, the detective visits Kokichi a few times throughout the night. The first time, Kokichi just rolls back into bed, but around midnight, Shuichi finds Kokichi able to sit up, and asks if he’s hungry. The liar agrees to be helped over to the table, and surprisingly, eats his entire cold dinner, even scraping gravy off bottom of the tray. The savory food doesn’t stay down, though, and Shuichi catches the other trying to hide dry heaving before the detective quickly drags him into the bathroom to retch his dinner into the toilet. Instinctively rubbing the kneeling liar’s shuddering back in circles, he wets a fluffy, white towel and hands it to the other who quickly wipes his face down. All the while, Shuichi is rapidly apologizing for not picking better food, covering his face with an elbow to try and drown out the smell, and trying really hard to look away. Kokichi never responds, though, so over the painful few minutes, the detective’s apologies peter out. 

The light in the bathroom is uncomfortably bright, illuminating every corner and every mussed strand of Kokichi’s hair that’s been growing ragged since the last time Shuichi combed it. Carefully, Shuichi reaches over the mop to flush the toilet, before helping the liar back out of the bathroom, propping open the heavy bathroom door for him. The other boy’s movements are slow, sluggish, and he hides away his face from Shuichi even when the detective applies a fresh set of bandages to the exhausted boy’s head. Kokichi silently slouches in his chair, only wincing with every wrap around. He seems to be in more pain then before.

The few times they do meet eyes, Kokichi’s gaze is hollow. It’s either exhausted—entirely devoid of energy—or glaring distrustfully up at the detective. Shuichi never responds. It just seems fitting to be silent in near dark, with only the bright, mildly jarring table lamp illuminating the room, leaving the room’s corners in darkness. Their interactions feel strange and alien without the typical banter. He just helps the liar back over to the bed, says goodnight, and leaves. 

______________

When the morning comes around, Kokichi wakes first. Lying in bed, he knows doesn’t want to see Shuichi. Last night was so painful, in more ways then one. For most the time, his head felt like it was dully splitting open. What did he think before, when he’d been muddled? Had he contributed the pain in his head to the looks everyone gave him? And he was hungry, _really really_ hungry—and was again, actually. But after he finished his dinner the nausea from before came back in spades, and he even threw up in front of Shuichi. Cringing at the memory, Kokichi covers his face with his hands. He stank of cold sweat. It was hideous. He was hideous. He bet Shuichi told everyone what happened and they all had a good laugh over it. 

(Not really, that was a ridiculous thought. But even so, if taunted him mercilessly.)

Last night’s events scorched his pride, it really did. He wondered if he’d start to be the one with eye contact issues. He hadn’t felt up to putting on a mask last night, and let his face revert to something even emptier then his blank “thinking” expression. Thankfully, Shuichi’d done him a favor of not looking too hard. Now, the detective just needed never, ever mention the events of last night, and they’d be swell. Right, like anything would be swell again. While it was faint right now, the ringing was back reminding him that everything is wrong, wrong, wrong. 

Yesterday, he’d been happy, no, _exhilarated_ to still be hanging around. It was a near-death experience, after all— deep down, he’d never planned on leaving that hangar alive. Initially, he must’ve been experiencing thankfulness just to be not-dead: sitting in his room, eating crappy food, feeling pain all the time. Irritatingly, the feeling still stuck to him now, _despite everything._ It must’ve been the same obnoxious, whiny, greedy feeling that set up everything else for Shuichi to reveal about his character after his death. It was the feeling that wanted him to be understood, among other things. No doubt could account his reluctance to pick up planning again to that feeling. Surely it’d fade with time, and his work could resume in earnest. 

For a second, he stares at his skinny arms, his pain and discomfort hidden beneath a layer of sweat-soaked, soft fabric. Blankly staring, he marvels at how he is disgusting inside and out. First he threw up in front of Shuichi—sweet, pretty Shuichi— and now he’s being so greedy and selfish. He’s such a _pig_ , greedy enough to want to keep living, even after all the terrible things he’s done. And even now, he’s still hungry, dammit.

His chain of thought is interrupted by Shuichi entering the room. The detective‘s arms are filled with another change of sweatpants, which he leaves bundled on the table. Looking surprised to see Kokichi awake and staring at him, his face soon caves into a relaxed expression of pity and understanding. Shock and burning shame quickly reverts into white-hot anger, and Kokichi glares Shuichi down, who’s face reverts into a more even expression of unflinching determination. 

The silent exchange is broken when Shuichi places one hand on the bed. “How are you feeling?” His soft voice rings out in the morning silence, clear even through the faint ringing.

“I’m in terrible amounts of pain.” Kokichi admits, sighing and leaning against the headboard. His throat feels rough and dry and sounds it, too. “Horrible, horrible pain. It hurts to speak.” 

“Really?” The voice isn’t accusatory, simply curious, gratingly pure. Kokichi curses the fact that this is a medical question. 

“No, just the normal amount of pain.” Snorting, Kokichi pulls his blanket up to his chest. He’s acting being more offended at being doubted then he actually is. “A little more then yesterday, actually.” 

Shuichi nods, and gracefully draws his hand off the bed. “Today, I’ve got a lot for you to do. First is morning chores, then I was thinking you might want to take a shower?” Walking over to the clothes pile, he pulls out his clipboard. “Tsumugi was nice enough to make you another fresh set of comfortable clothes.” Tapping a pen on it’s surface, he sits in the chair and stares down Kokichi. “Then... she and the others would like to see how you’re doing today.” 

Kokichi laughs out loud at that. “Ooo, I bet they would! Here’s a sideshow, everyone come ‘round! See the dogchild, the bearded lady! The de-fanged mastermind! Great entertainment, fun for the whole family around!”

“It’s not like that,” Shuichi insists. “ _They’re worried about you._ ” 

Kokichi claps his hands in delight at the turn of phrase. “Oo, they’re _worried about me_ in more ways then one, Shuichi-chan! Now that a delightful half-lie! Is it a lie for it’s intention, or really a lie at all?” It really is a marvelous turn of phrase—either a sentiment of concern or suspicion depending on the intention. They should also be worried about Momota-chan, too, right?

Shuichi rolls his eyes as he goes through his clipboard. “It’s not my decision, alright?” He replies, pinching the bridge of his nose as Kokichi lets out a long whine. “Yumeno insisted on it. She’s grown... strange.” 

“Eh? Wow, I didn’t know she was capable of growth that would actually start effecting things.” Kokichi smirks. 

“I... take it you don’t like her very much.” Shuichi stares directly at him, eyes analyzing. Kokichi swallows the urge to self-consciously adjust himself, and lifts his chin to stare directly back. _A challenge._

“What’s there to like? Her charming way of not giving a shit about anyone or anything in her life? Her fantastic skill at simple illusions, or her delusional insistence that magic is real and she’s an actual mage? I mean, her only positive quality seems to be she’s so _stupid_ it’s kinda hilarious. I mean, if we weren’t in a life-or-death scenario and her idiocy was blatantly offensive! Actually... she might be funny for one thing. Just imagine, she’d be a _fantastic_ pawn to manipulate to kill someone. Just picture it: we’d be in the class trial, and you’d be like: ‘um, if you’d like, you could confess, what happened with you,’” Kokichi’s imitation of Shuichi is mockingly feminine, high and pathetically wimpy. “And she’d be like ‘nyeeeehhhhhh.... I might’ve stabbed them several dozen times, by accident....’ and YOU’D be like “Y-yumeno-chan,,,,,, that _kills_ people,,,,,”

Shuichi groans, looking obligatorily perplexed and tired. Kokichi wonders if someone smacked his sense of humor on the head so hard on that it, already weak and without Kokichi’s... perky spirit? actually did die and then Ultimate Mood Killer got executed. “...Is that all? Is that really, all there is to her, to any of them?”

“Eh, you know how it is. They’re _shallow_ , Shuichi, skin-deep. It’s like they’re two-dimensional.”

“...I thought the saying was one-dimensional.”

Kokichi shrugs. “Eh, either way I don’t wanna see em’. Not even if they come bearing gifts for this Supreme Leader am I gonna see em’. Not even if they kowtow am I gonna see em’. Not even if they—”

“Right, right,” Shuichi nods. He picks up the clipboard, looking it over carefully, and Kokichi decides to watch the detective with a calm smile on his face. Shuichi goes ahead and outlines some plan for the liar to be able to take a shower later in the day. As he finishes, Kokichi feels a particularly dreadful pang of hunger and clears his rough throat once more. “Hey. Let’s do breakfast first,” insists Kokichi. “I’m extra hungry.” Shuichi seems confused at first, but then his eyes widen, and he nods seriously. Setting down the clipboard, he leaves the room to get some food.

Well, that felt... bad. Why did he bring up last night’s incident? Well, it might’ve made him look weak, but it also made Shuichi really uncomfortable, and bothering Shuichi was certainly one of Kokichi’s pet projects. But did it count if it bothered Shuichi because Shuichi was concerned about Kokichi’s health? 

Kokichi considers taking this and running with it—mentioning the incident frequently, in detail, just to gross Shuichi out. It certainly would make the liar less sympathetic, and he’d stooped to pretty low lengths before. But this... felt like it would be too far. He’d like to keep his dignity, even if it exposed his weakness. Thankfully, Shuichi respected his boundaries and was already treading carefully around the subject—just like Kokichi knew he would.

Shuichi’s back in the room before he knows it—with another bowl of oatmeal. He reads his novel while Kokichi eats, and is disappointed when he finds where Kokichi spoiled it for him by scribbling out an essential few pages with purple ink. 

(Later, he checks the library for another copy of the book. He doesn’t find one. Then, he asks Kokichi what happened, and he swears little liar just makes something up.)

__________________

 

 _Cosplay’s a pain_ , Yumeno figures, lying on her back in a frilly outfit that took far too long to put on. They got together earlier today, and decided they’d try to do something else as a group, since Shuichi was busy taking care of Kokichi, and Maki could hardly be pried away from Momota. One brainstorming session later they’d been coerced into cosplaying, as the blue-haired Ultimate forced her interests on others for the umpteenth time. Not that there was much else to do in this school but mope and gamble...

“...we don’t seem to be having very much fun,” Yumeno admits. She looks across the room, spotting Kiibo. He’s sitting politely on a chair, hands folded neatly over his lap, and staring at a box of costumes all the way on the other side of the room. He’s been looking at them for a while, and unlike his dead stares from before, his large blue pupils are shifting the slightest bit. She wonders what he sees. 

“Well, Kiibo couldn’t come up with anything else. S-so I thought, why not...?”

“But he can’t even participate.”

“Oh, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” The circles in Kiibo’s eyes shift and dilate as he focuses on Yumeno, and she feels a shiver run down her spine as the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile. 

“Nnnnnnnyehhhh... Kiibo? You alright over there? Not gettin’ included, an’ all...”

“No, I said I was fine.” Says Kiibo, a bit hesitantly. “I mean, this feeling of not being included is nothing new for me. I’m starting to quantify it as the hypocrisy of my existence, the urge to fit in with humans a fundamental part of my character yet entirely impossible and quite possibly contradictory to my pride as a robot.”

Tsumugi’s mumbling something about pairing the spares(spare what? spare outfits?) as she pulls out an outfit with a cape and sword. Despite her promises, Yumeno can’t bring herself to look at it a second longer as she waves it in front of the magician’s face. 

“C’mon, just try one more outfit. For the spon...tinatiy.” Tsumugi insists rather half-heartedly. Even she’s tired, her shoulders sagging as she rubs at her eyes. She doesn’t look like she’s been getting much sleep lately. Yumeno ignores her, and plops down next to Kiibo. She tilts her head up and leans over a little so she can get a good look at his face, scrutinizing. But she’s never been fabulous at reading expressions, and the difficulty’s only increased with his wierd robot face. All she can look at his the lines down his cheeks, and those vacuous, oversized lenses. She decides to ask instead. 

“You... havin’ a fun time? You havin’ a blast? Nyehhh...?” 

“Not particularly.” Kibo says with a small frown. Yumeno barks out a single, abrupt laugh at his bluntness, and Tsumugi’s shoulders sink down a little further in disappointment. “I-I mean. I... it’s hard to clarify, exactly when I’m feeling ‘fun’. I don’t really feel describable emotions like—” His face scrunches up a little under Yumeno’s scrutiny, and he looks conflicted. “That’s not true. I have had fun before. I guess I’m just not feeling it very much right now. I’m sorry,” He picks up his head and looks at Tsumugi. “I know you’re probably expecting more from me...” 

“Wormy, buddy.” Yumeno cracks her fingers and swings back down to lying on her back. Things feel better from down here. Maybe she should sleep more. 

“Humans, like all animals, often naturally enjoy each other’s company.” Kiibo tilts his head. “Do you guys think I should set myself to automatically enjoy the company of humans? I was never programmed with that function, but I could create it. It’d be a simple program...”

“Do... whatever,” offers Yumeno. Wow, great, how helpful. Shooting him down like that kinda makes her feel bad. But, she really doesn’t know anything about this...

But Kiibo shares with her a small smile. “Actually, I don’t think I’ll need to.”

 

____________________________

The next time Shuichi returns to Kokichi’s room, he spends a while observing the whiteboard in the corner. He turns around with a smile on his face. “Kokichi, do you think I’m trustworthy?”

“Mm, definitely not.” The liar answers immediately, automatically, and Shuichi’s smile disappears. Kokichi wonders whether or not that is a lie, but decides to run with it. “After all this,” He spreads his arms apart wide. “I think you’re the least trustworthy out of all my classmates. ” 

The detective’s face is hard to read. He seems saddened at first, but then his face levels out. “Really?” 

“Really really.” Kokichi nods, folding his arms. Now, Shuichi seems frustrated.

“So the _actual hours_ I’ve spent trying to make sure you don’t die are don’t count for anything?” Shuichi focuses on the clipboard, reading through the checklist another time. 

Kokichi smiles, he has a response saved up for this. “Aw, don’t make me blush, sweetie-pie. I know you’re just looking out for your best-buddy Maki. I wonder what an Assassin’s Execution would look like?”

Shuichi eyes widen at that comment. He looks genuinely surprised, like he’s never thought of that before, and that turns Kokichi’s stomach. _Damn._ The detective stutters, looking away. “Th-that’s not what this about,” he replies with a frown. “This is about...” He pauses, clearly thinking carefully about what he wants to say. Jutting out his lower lip, he opens his mouth only to close it again. It makes Kokichi aggravatingly curious as to what’s going on in there, but he doesn’t ask. Eventually, with some difficulty, the detective decides what to say: “This is about making sure you recover.” 

“Saving the Mastermind, really? Oh wait, I forgot, you’ve subscribed to some delusion that I’m somehow not the heinous villain, with _allllll_ the irons in the fire.” Kokichi cackles at Shuichi’s confusion. The detective sputters out a clipped question, wondering why Kokichi knows about that, and the liar reminds him of Momota’s hunch. “Nice uncomfortably long pause, by the way. Really builds my confidence.” Grinning, Kokichi folds his hands behind his head and waits for Shuichi’s retort.

Nervously, Shuichi gulps, wrapping his arms around himself. “I-I’ve tried to make this easier for you.” He sounds uncomfortable. “Keeping the others away, respecting your privacy. Not that any of this is easy.”

“Oh sure! Respecting my privacy. You never even questioned me about that despair nonsense while I was—” He hisses, loathing to bring up this subject.“—lets say, a _little_ less then sound of mind.” Back while he was inebriated, the detective had almost certainly tried to take advantage of the situation to make Kokichi talk about himself, to trick the liar into slurring out his deepest secrets. Regardless, he’s still very, very uncomfortable with whatever he became that day, and Shuichi’s presence in those memories make them all the worse. 

“Yeah, don’t think I don’t I remember that.”

Shuichi’s glare, aimed right to the floor, is dark and a bit angry. Perhaps a bit sad—no, _damn_ , downright sorrowful, but why? Something doesn’t fit. Bitterly, the detective spits, “Kokichi, I was _taking care_ of you.” 

“You were _taking advantage_ of me,” the liar automatically snaps back. Even though he’s wearing a strained smile, the liar feels his own anger and annoyance showing on his face. Just thinking about how compromised he was on that day sends a shudder down his spine. Shuichi, shocked by the liar’s sudden anger, quails back a bit. It makes Kokichi feel... bad, so he sighs dramatically, deciding to lighten the mood. “And, you keep trying to poison me.”

“Wh-what?” The detective sputters. “Th-those are pain pills!” Flustered, he points at them, and Kokichi relishes his reaction. 

“Yeah, pain _causing_ pills. Incorrigible, Shuichi-chan.” Kokichi huffs in mock indignation. 

The detective takes it in all stride, though, and decides to continue on. 

___________________

Shuichi’s outlined a battle plan for having Kokichi take a shower, and frankly, Kokichi is a little impressed at the detective’s system of elimination. The detective’s come up with all these methods for protecting the liar’s wounds and privacy, and makes Kokichi promise not to run the shower hot or he’ll risk passing out. Kokichi nags Shuichi for being a pervert, who gets expectedly flustered and only insists further. The briefing finished, Kokichi drags the clean clothes into the bathroom with a huge scowl on his face. On the inside, he’s a little happy, though. Finally, he’ll be able to get clean, he really hates the feeling of being sweaty and gross. He’ll look a lot better, too—heck, he might’ve tried taking a shower a while ago if Shuichi wasn’t keeping such a close eye on him.

He sets the the freshly made outfit on the sink, and wriggles out of his nasty, sweaty clothes and into his trunks. They’re an extra precaution in case he slips or faints and needs to be pulled out. As Shuichi advised, he ties a thick towel over the bandages his head to ease the pressure of the water, and another around his arm. Approaching the shower, soap in hand, he feels _equipped_ , dammit. Very stupid looking, but _equipped_. Switch from leaning on the sink to leaning on a metal bar built in the showers wall, he firmly grasps the lever and turns. 

Kokichi didn’t even think to brace himself, and he regrets it. The shower bluntly stabs at his head, the force of each drop greatly dampened by the stupid towel, but still echoing, and still awfully cold. His skinny arms are shivering in seconds, but he angrily decides to go through the motions and attempt to at least get the sweat off his body. Dammit, _he will look good and he will feel better._ There’s no pressure adjuster to make it any more soft, and he hisses as he quickly rubs his body down with the soap. He drops it, and cursing his fumbly hands, kicks it out of the stall and lets it slide out onto the bathroom floor, quickly switching to using a towel and liquid soap. Rubbing the cold water over his body makes the terrible situation somehow even worse, so he tries to move as quickly as possible. Finally done, turns the shower off with _vehemence_ before he even touches his now dripping hair to comb or wash it. 

He takes a few steps out of the shower before dropping to the floor. For a few seconds, he stares at the door, but it seems Shuichi didn’t hear. Shivering fiercely, he rolls over into a sitting position, splashing in the small puddle of water that’s formed below him. Cursing, he dries off his legs and, tossing off the soaked towels around his forehead and arm with a gross splat, drags himself a few feet over to the other side of the bathroom floor, where the soap has skittered. He tries his best to dry himself off, but it’s difficult with his whole body shivering so _badly_ from the cold. Heat pricks around his eyes as tears up, questioning _what kind of supreme leader loses to a shower?_ and he quickly dries them off along with the rest of his body. Shivering there on the moment, he bathes in cold, fiery, hopeless anger before tossing on his new clothes. He’s definitely comfier and cleaner, but it’s hard to notice the difference over how cold he is. 

Kokichi hesitates before leaving the bathroom. But if he focuses hard enough, he thinks can almost completely hide his shaking. 

It’s not enough to fool Shuichi, though. The detective’s at his side in seconds, placing a hand on his back without even asking. Like that, he must quite easily feel the shaking and the shallow breaths. A look horror of crosses the detective’s sleeve face when he rolls back the liar’s sleeve, and checks the temperature of Kokichi’s arm. Then, he sighs emphatically, looking so _damn_ sorry.

“Oh, _Kokichi._ ” The detective laments. 

The obvious sympathy makes the liar’s stomach turn and boil with anger, and that only makes him shake harder. He keeps his jaw glued shut to prevent from stammering out a pathetic retort. Moving to the room’s far end, the detective kneels by the heater and sets it to start warming the room. He offers a hand to help Kokichi over to the makeshift space heater, but the liar who scoffs, and turns the hand away. It’s blowing hot air. It feels absolutely heavenly, so Kokichi tilts back his head and basks in it like a lizard. Then Shuichi says something, but Kokichi doesn’t even watch as he leaves the room, only dimly aware of the door shutting behind him with a _click._

The heat billows up in his face in waves, and he tilts down his hair to dry off in it. Dimly, he figures that he should probably move away, but he doesn’t even have the chance before...

______________

 _Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes._ The food was too savory, the shower too cold, it was dumb to suggest, he just wanted to see the liar looking more _healthy,_ Shuichi was being selfish, dammit. Somehow the progress learning what the true nature of the school was got crossed up with the progress of help Kokichi get better, and he’d thought himself so smart when he’d figured out the best way for Kokichi to take a shower. He knew the liar would want too—he always put effort into his appearance, so the illness must’ve been driving him crazy. It might make him more willing to visit with Yumeno and the rest, too. And most of all, then Kokichi might look fresher and healthier and that much more alive and not at all like the corpses that were still frequenting Shuichi’s nightmares. But it was a dumb idea, and he’d made Kokichi suffer more. 

He can’t have been gone for more then a few minutes, taking Kokichi’s old clothes to the drier and picking up the liar’s old sheets. But he unlocks the door and opens it again, he doesn’t get a greeting, and he doesn’t see the liar sitting in a moodily squatting next to the heater, either. There’s only a—

His heartbeat stops, then _races_ when he recognizes what the pile of blankets next to the water is. _Kokichi._ Racing over to the liar’s side, he flips him over, and not knowing what else to do, nervously and gently pats the boy’s face in an attempt to wake him up. His cheek is soft to the touch. 

The liar opens his eyes after a short delay, blinking a few times and looking up at Shuichi, his hair spread around his head in a messy halo. _Of course,_ he hadn’t taken the time to wash his hair. More then anything else, he just looks confused. This whole debacle was such a mess—first the hell shower, then Shuichi knocked the kid out. What had reading the book a million times even been for if he freaked out in a pinch?

Shuichi hangs his head, unable to meet the liars eyes. “I’m so sorry.” He chokes out. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have—and—” He’s not quite crying, but he feels awful, and his throat burns. Maybe this would be the way he killed Kokichi—not with his words, but with his stupid medical decisions. “I-I understand if you want someone else taking care of you.” He couldn’t even find out the final thing the liar was hiding. He couldn’t even confront him on not being the mastermind—

“What, no.” Shock, and perplexion. That’s what Shuichi hears, but he doesn’t look up. “Okay, then, if that’s true, then your latest massive mistake would be thinking anyone else would be trying to do _this._ Anyway,” the liar hisses, “great friggin’ job stinkin—“

Impulsively, Shuichi falls to his knees and quickly pulls the liar close in his arms. Kokichi immediately stiffens up. Like always, he feels so small and stiff and painfully thin, so fragile: he notices that every time he stretches out an arm to help the injured boy move, but now, it’s more apparent then ever. At least he’s alive. He’s not dead. He’s not even cold, anymore. Kokichi relaxes the tiniest bit, and the impulsive embrace lasts only a few tense moments longer. Shuichi supposes he’s earned it when he gets a elbow in his ribs and in the blink of an eye, Kokichi’s whisked away, clambering back to the bed and taking his two blankets with him. Huddled on the bed, he turns around a sticks out his tongue at Shuichi before disappearing into the pile. 

“No hard feelings. Gimme space.” Kokichi’s voice is muffled by the blankets. Shuichi can’t help but let a smile cross his face. 

Later, he returns and picks up that purple comb to work gently through Kokichi’s hair once more. They talk about games, and lying, and...

_______________________

Momota says he’s feeling better. 

And he is, that’s not a lie. It’s great, being outside that shithole hanger, getting to see everyone healthy and happy. It’s especially good to see Maki. They’ve made so much progress recently, she’s really warming up both him and Shuichi. He knew she had it in her, he knew he was right to believe in her. He... he wants to see her grow into an ordinary teenage girl, but he’s not sure...

He shakes his head and banishes the thought, placing a hand on his chest. Underneath his hand, his breath rattles and shakes like a shuttle breaching the atmosphere, but it doesn’t hurt no more. The pills help with that. He thinks Maki knows his true condition— she’s always forward, rushing up and roughly laying a hand on back or chest and freezing attentive, for a few seconds. She’s such a pessimist, that she keeps bringing it up how he’s gonna die in a minute, an hour, a day, a week. Every time she does, he shoots her down with a glowing insistence that he’s gonna be fine, and she smiles and relaxes in that slight way she shows she’s happy, happy. Maki Roll only keeps bringing it up, he thinks, because she wants to hear again and again that he’s gonna be okay. 

It’s hard to read, in a person like her, but Momota thinks that maybe, just maybe she... _likes_ him? Like, _like_ like. Which is weird, to say the least. He means, it’s not like he doesn’t understand that Maki is an adorable and attractive and murderous woman but he doesn’t really know if he _like_ likes her back because when he thinks about what he loves, no feelings for humans could possibly compare to the way he adores _stars_. But Momota wants to support Maki, and if she feels, that way, then he’s gonna support her in that feeling. _Yeah._

But right now he’s not supporting Maki, he’s supporting Shuichi. And Shuichi is doing what Shuichi does best, going off about his case. Now he’s gotten so far along in his bizarre theory that he somehow feels _culpable_ for Kokichi’s acting out, for the way he pretended to be the mastermind. 

“We could’ve made him an outcast, Momota. He said it himself: ‘Everyone hates me, so the role of villain is perfect for me.’”

Momota snorts at that thought(and at the detective’s nasally impression of the liar’s voice.) What the hell, why Shuichi remembering specific words said by the liar? Well, damn if he wasn’t dedicated— Momota was still basing things on hunches. To say that Kokichi was an outcast, well, that was clear as day, but to think that they missed an opportunity to reach out to him? Well, that was...

Momota sighs, and reaches his hand out. He wishes that he was sitting under the stars, and not in his stupid sickbed. “Outcasts,” he says, working the word out on his tongue. Why does it sound familiar...? That’s right: “Outcast Stars,” he repeats, “stars that are theorized have initially been part of a binary system, only to lose their partner to a black hole or going supernova. Then, they speed away superfast— millions an millions of miles per hour—right out of the galaxy, even, into lonely interstellar space.” He clears his throat, and lets himself get a little lost in nostalgia.

“When I was a kid, I wanted to save them. The Outcast Stars, that is. I thought it was sad that they were always gonna be alone. They got hurt, and now they were running away and distancing themselves from anything and everything else. So, I wanted to fly out there and save them, show them that they could make friends with everyone else. But the Outcasts are self-driven.”

“Mmm.” Saihara nods gravely, deep in thought. His hand is perched on his chin.

Momota chuckles. “I mean, Outcast Stars. I couldn’t have saved them if I wanted to. They’re massive balls of plasma millions of miles away.” Sometimes realism that held him back when he was a kid. But it was the truth, the facts and figures, the true majesty of stars that always kept him going. What made them beautiful (though what he’d say is strong and cool) was that they were all real. Momentarily, Momota is lost in thinking about stars.

“I... think we should reach out to him. I mean, he’s _really_ hurting, and he’s not the mastermind... And I think, just maybe we can save him.” The detective’s word’s are soft, introspective, and his gaze somber. “If I— I mean, w-we— try hard enough, maybe he’ll listen. Right?” Shuichi turns his head to look up the astronaut, his golden eyes suddenly ablaze with hope and determination. The fierce look distracts the astronaut from his reverie about stars. Seeing the detective like this, Momota feels more sidelined then ever, an old sentimental sap chained to his sickbed. ...the truth is, he’s almost certain liar probably can’t be saved. He’s probably moving too fast, burning too bright. Burning himself right up. 

But Shuichi doesn’t need to hear that. Momota plasters a big smile across his face, and the detective perks up instantly. 

“Sure thing. If anybody can help him, it’s you—make the impossible possible, right?”

At once, Shuichi relaxes at the sentiment, eyes crinkling with a smile. As always, a little bit of positive reinforcement goes miles with the detective. “Thanks for believing in me,” he offers, faintly smiling. Momota claps him on the back encouragingly.

“No problem, buddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Local fanfic author wheezes over “like like like” and fluttershy voice shuichi for 5 months before posting new chapter. also, if anybody can guess what tsumooogi was about to say before she cut herself off, you get a cookie!
> 
> uhhh, so y e a h. this new chapter, is out, and progress, is made. it was mostly just an issue of patching up for this chapter recently, as much of the important parts were already written, but i also didn’t know whether or not to keep certain scenes. the reason i uhhhh stopped working on his project was cus ive been dr roleplaying with tia! she is cool, go read her fics.
> 
> there will PROBABLY be another chapter. another...6 chapters, even. also, welcome new readers who’ve never seen this fic before!! it LIVES!!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Change of Heart (Is Not Easy To Make)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13166862) by [Tkhan0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tkhan0/pseuds/Tkhan0)




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